#the most powerful waitress

[eternalchaoschocolaterain]

The Most Powerful Waitress

Last one!

Chapter one: School's out

Chapter two: I'd hire me

Chapter three: No cure for me

Chapter four: Rinse and repeat

Chapter five: Patience

Chapter six: I don't know

@whatwouldvalerydo

No one knows

The next day Merula went back to Hogsmeade, to Zonko’s. Bilton did not look happy to see her when she entered the store and she held up her hands.

‘I want to apologize.’

His expression became milder. ‘I see. Go ahead.’

She fidgeted with the zipper on her leather jacket. Fuck, she hated apologizing, but it had to be done if she ever wanted to show her face her again. Which she did. ‘I’m sorry for storming out of the store yesterday. I shouldn’t have done that. I let my emotions get the best of me and I’m sorry for that.’

Bilton smiled. ‘I accept your apology, but I will never let you work here again.’

‘That’s fair.’

They said an awkward goodbye and Merula exhaled deeply when she stood outside. With that out of the way she could go back home, but she wanted to pick up a drink for Quinn. To celebrate her closing her first case. Not feeling comfortable going back to the Three Broomsticks, she went to Hog’s Head. Aberforth gave her a curious look when she got up to the bar.

‘Come to look for a job?’

Word travelled way too fast here. Merula crossed her arms. ‘No, I want some herbal liqueur.’ She’d decided Quinn was right, she didn’t have to work. Why not use her position to grant herself a break to think things over?

‘That’s too bad. But let me know if you change your mind. I heard about what happened with Rosmerta and I think you’d do well here.’

Stunned, Merula stared at him. Did he just offer her a job knowing what happened this week? Why would anyone want to offer her a job after this week? Not that it mattered. She’d do nothing for now. Absolutely nothing work-related that was.

Which is what she did the following days. She duelled with Quinn, went to the Dueling Club, practiced duelling at home, went to the theatre, watched the stars, studied new spells, read. Her days were full, although she spent most of the time by herself. With Ismelda abroad, Quinn was the only person she had actual conversations with and she did have a job.

As the days turned into weeks she started to get restless. Doing whatever she wanted was nice and all, but it got her nowhere. Writing letters to Ismelda got harder by the day.

I went duelling, again. Sat in the garden, again. Watched another play. Read another book.

Blah, blah, blah. There was nothing to it. Nothing she could be proud of, nothing to show off with. Sure she mastered some new spells and was a better dueller than ever, but who cared if she had no goal with it? She didn’t want to become a professional dueller. Professional duellers barely had a life outside of training and matches and she didn’t want to be consumed by anything ever again. Her obsession with the Vaults had almost cost her everything. There was no way she would risk that again. No, she needed something where she could excel, but where she could still have a live. Maybe even make a new friend. It’d be nice to have someone else but Quinn to talk to.

Frustration boiled up again. How had she made it to 18 without knowing what she wanted?! After finding the Cursed Vaults and defeating R this was supposed to be the easy part! She would get to live now and what did she do? Hang around doing whatever came to mind. Anything to keep the growing restlessness a bay. Everyone else was doing great. Even Quinn seemed to have settled in. They all had some reason to get up, some purpose. She had nothing.

Aberforth’s offer kept playing through her mind and she kept wondering what he wanted from her. After another day doing the same things by herself, she went to Hog’s Head. At the very least to stop the same questions from running through her mind.

The one-room inn looked grimy as ever and smelled like goats, which made her wonder if Aberforth was some secret goat breeder. There was no reason for this grimy inn to smell like goats otherwise. Aberforth stood behind the bar cleaning a goblet with his hands and a dirty rag instead of his wand, which explained why it didn’t get any cleaner.

‘Is the job still there?’

Aberforth stopped rubbing the goblet and looked up at her. ‘Sure.’

‘What kind of job would it be? I’m not really a server.’

‘I heard,’ he chuckled, ‘but I could use some help around here. I need a day off too every once in a while, but the patrons can be a lot. Not everyone can handle them. I think you could.’

‘So you do want me to be a server.’

‘I want you to make sure they pay before they leave and take any fights outside.’

She pondered the offer. It would give her something to do, some purpose, but at what cost? Working in this goat pen wasn’t exactly the dream job. On the other hand, she could do it. No one would leave without paying on her watch. Or dare to make a mess. She could excel in a small way, until she knew what she wanted. At worst she would get fired and at this point she didn’t know if she cared anymore.

‘Alright, but I don’t want to work every weekend.’ That would defeat the whole ‘having a life outside of work’ thing.

‘Fine,’ Aberforth shrugged. ‘Can you start tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Sure.’

The place didn’t look any better the next day. Or smell any better. She’d dressed for the occasion, with an old band shirt, old jeans and boots that were easily cleaned with a spell. Aberforth stood behind the bar again and he greeted her with a nod. She joined him and stared into the room. There were a few people, some hunched over the table whispering. Like they had never heard of the sound bubble charm. All of them had drinks, some had food.

‘Now what?’

‘We watch and make sure they don’t burn this place down.’

‘Why not? The place can’t get any worse.’

It slipped out before she could stop herself and she mentally prepared to be chastised, but Aberforth chuckled. Feeling a bit more relaxed she asked him about the place and before she knew it, they were chatting about the history of Hogsmeade.

As the afternoon turned into the evening the patrons got a bit rowdy and a fight did break out. A man and a woman rose from their seats, shouting, wands drawn. Aberforth nudged her to show him how she’d handle it. She stepped up to them, both were about two heads taller than her, and yelled.

‘Outside, both of you!’ They looked down at her for a moment. The man raised his eyebrow, as if to challenge her, and Merula drew her wand. ‘I said to take it outside.’

They laughed and she hit them with a jinx she’d taught herself a while ago for duelling. It pinned their arms behind their back. Then she hit them with in the back a few times, pushing them towards the door, until they left. They complained and spluttered, but couldn’t get their arms out of the grip she had on them. Other patrons pointed and laughed at them. Once they were outside, Merula went back to Aberforth.

‘Something like that?’

‘Something like that,’ he smirked.

She had to come between two more fights that evening and served a few drinks. Not that bad for a first night. The following days she broke up some more fights, scolded patrons for making messes and didn’t clean anything herself. For some reason the patrons liked her attitude and Aberforth seemed happy with her. She didn’t know what to think herself. The job itself was okay-ish, but she worked at Hog’s Head for Salazar’s sake! Way beneath a witch of her powers. She itched to do better, but still had no answer as to what she wanted.

On Friday Quinn brought over a group of her friends. She’d asked if she wanted to join and suggested coming to Hog’s Head when Merula said she couldn’t. Seeing them wouldn’t be the worst, so she’d shrugged. Aberforth would like the extra money and she supposed she could clean some goblets for the occasion. One for Quinn at least.

Tonks and Tulip were the first to arrive, claiming a large table. Tulip gave Merula a questioning look when she saw her standing behind the bar, but she ignored it. She’d realise soon enough. Shortly after Quinn came in, with Haywood and Egwu in tow. She grinned at her and waved and Merula returned the sentiment with a small smile.

‘Friends of yours?’ Aberforth asked.

Merula hummed a confirmation. Something like that.

‘Go join them, make sure they pay. We don’t do personal favours here.’

She let out a snort. Like that’s the reason, but she appreciated him acting like he didn’t do her a favour. The seat next to Quinn was still free and she took it. Under the table she gave her hand a squeeze.

‘You work here now?’ Haywood asked.

‘I’m not taking your order if that’s what you’re asking. You can go up to the bar and get it yourself. I’m not your servant.’

Tonks burst out laughing and Haywood turned red. ‘That’s not-’

‘We were talking about what we’ve all been up to.’ Tulip cut in.

She went on to explain how she and her toad Dennis were on an all-salmon diet?! Nothing but salmon, which sounded gross even to a fish lover like Merula. Haywood chimed in, talking about her wonderful, wonderful job. She had the best job ever. She was learning so many new things as apothecary in training. Of course, Tonks was doing great too, living her dream of becoming an auror. Training under none other than her hero, Mad-Eye Moody. Why that man was anyone’s hero was beyond Merula. She’d met him a few times dealing with R and if you asked her, he was unhinged. An accident waiting to happen. Egwu was happy working at Gladrags and working on his own fashion line in his free time. Quinn gushed about her co-workers, who were all just the nicest of the nicest. What lives they lived, no one questioned anything, had any trouble, or had gotten fired. No. Everything was perfect.

‘Well, congratulations to everyone for doing sooo well in life,’ Merula spat, unable to keep her frustrations to herself any longer. ‘Looks like everything is perfect for you all.’ The urge to get up and stomp off was as strong as ever, but she managed to hold back. She didn’t want a repeat from last time.

For a moment they all stared at her, then Egwu scowled.

‘I wish! I missed this month’s rent because I found the perfect fabric and forgot how much I had left. Making your own fashion line is expensive!’

‘But you’ve always made clothes. How did you not know it would be expensive?’ Merula asked. Besides, he knew how to calculate, right? That was just dumb.

‘I never had to pay rent and food and everything else on top of it!’

‘Tell me about it,’ Tonks said, ‘I hate paying rent. Why do I have to pay some rich arsehole for the right to have a roof over my head?’

Tulip made a face. ‘I wish I could afford rent. My experiments are driving my parents mad and I kind of destroyed the couch the other day. After creating toxic fumes in my bedroom.’

‘At least you get to do what you love,’ Quinn said. ‘I keep getting sent out to do things alone and my boss hates me. And he’s threatening to fire me if I don’t get my apparition license soon.’ Merula raised her eyebrows at her. This was news for her too. ‘He told me today.’

‘Ah fuck, I have to do that too!’ Tonks hair flashed blue and she put her face in her hands. ‘And if I keep failing stealth, I’ll never become an auror, but I can’t help that I keep knocking things over!’

Everyone focused on Haywood now, who had a sheepish look on her face. ‘I don’t want to be mean, but my roommate is, kind of a bit untidy. And she keeps using my stuff. I wouldn’t mind if she asked of course! But she doesn’t and when I find them, they’re dirty. I thought having a roommate would be fun, like living in the dorms had been, but it’s not.’ They all nodded and Merula looked at them, stunned by their confessions. ‘I thought I had everything figured out after graduating, but there’s so much I don’t know.’

‘It’s like they forgot to teach us how to live,’ Egwu said with an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m questioning everything I’ve learned.’

‘Just look at us! Some of Hogwarts best and brightest and we’re all struggling!’ Tonks said, her hair still blue.

‘It’s not just us,’ Haywood sighed. ‘I know Barnaby has been feeling extremely homesick for Hogwarts, McNully can’t grow in his job because he has issues networking.’ Merula sniggered. Of course he did. That’s what you got when you turned everything and everyone around you into statistics. ‘and Alanza hasn’t even found a place to live yet.’

‘Maybe they did forget to teach us some things at Hogwarts,’ Quinn pondered.

The rest nodded and named more things they wished they’d learned. Merula listened in awe. It wasn’t just her, they were all struggling. And judging by the things the others were saying she was already doing better than the lot of them. No roommate issues, no budget issues and currently, no work issues. Aberforth told her he wanted her to run the inn by herself for an afternoon coming week, see how it would go. He trusted her. Even if she didn’t want to work in this goat pen forever, it was far from the worst job she had in the past few weeks.

The next couple of days the conversation kept repeating itself in her mind. Maybe life after Hogwarts wasn’t the easy part, maybe they needed to learn that too. If so, she had already shown great improvement, unlike the others. She’d found a job that let her be herself and it didn’t look like she’d be fired anytime soon. Sure she still had no idea what she wanted, but she’d figure it out. She’d show herself some patience this time. For now she would stay at Hog’s Head and entertain herself by yelling at people. Life after Hogwarts would only get better, she’d make sure of it.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

hooray for this delightful recording portraits collage in the 17 again musical booklet

[gutsby]

Easy to Please

Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader

Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.

Word count: 3.1k

You hate the face he makes when he cums.

You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.

You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.

‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’

What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.

Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.

The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.

“How’s the wrist?” he says.

You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.

“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.

You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.

“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.

You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.

It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.

Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.

You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.

And that’s where Joel comes in.

No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.

What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind

“O-ow!” you whine presently.

His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.

“You alright?”

“Fuck me!”

I will, he thinks.

“Want me to get an ice—”

“Let go-OW! FUCK!”

Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.

You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.

Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.

And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.

He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—

“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.

You look confused for a second, but you tell him.

“Twenty-one.”

Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.

“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.

“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink.

“You gonna take your pants off or what?”

And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.

Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.

More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.

Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—

“Oh.”

He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.

He tries anyway:

“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea.

Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs

Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.

On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.

Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.

Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.

And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.

“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”

From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.

Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.

“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”

Normally, Joel loves to hear that.

Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.

He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.

Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.

“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.

You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.

Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.

“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”

You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.

“Love me deep?”

And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.

Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.

“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”

You look like you might agree. He keeps going.

“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”

He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.

“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”

And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:

“Don’t.”

Joel should’ve known better.

He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.

It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.

Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.

“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”

“Shut up,” you snap.

Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.

Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.

His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.

“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.

Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.

His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.

“Sweet pea—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.

And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.

His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.

Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.

What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.

Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.

No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.

The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.

He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.

He won’t cum tonight, either.

He’ll finish something else.

You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.

Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.

Then you remember your own less than two months ago:

Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.

They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.

He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.

No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.

You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.

At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.

You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.

Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.

And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.

Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.

An envelope.

In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.

You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.

Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.

When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.

Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.

You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.

[yandereforme]

Yan!Mafia Batfamily x reader

Part 1:Introduction and Duke

TW: Mentions of murder, mention of harassment

After Bruce’s parents died, Bruce began having the same mindset Red Hood/Jason had in canon; You can’t eradicate crime, but you can control it.

He soon built a persona of the bat, a mafia boss that everyone knew and feared/loved. This is a less moral Batman, who doesn’t personally kill, but has nothing against murder if it’s just.(Justice remains a part of his mission.)

This leads to a slightly more complicated bat family, with each of them playing a vital role as their counterparts, and Robin being the term used for shadowing the big bat, and learning the ropes. (If you want me to expand on that part, let me know$

No one knows the Wayne’s are the Batfam, but they all know they are vaguely connected, with many suspecting a relationship between Bruce and The Bat or The Bat being an illegitimate child of Thomas Wayne(though neither theory is voiced in earshot of the Wayne’s. Connected to the Bat or not, the Wayne family is still terrifying.)

Most people are pretty scared of the Waynes and the Bats like, fearing them and avoiding them 

You, on the other hand, could give less of a shit about them.

You are an orphan with good grades and even better computer skills. So while everyone believed you lived with your parents who traveled, and that you were 17 to your actual age of 13, you got away with living on your own and working a part time job. Working as a waitress wasn’t terrible, though you occasionally had to deal with Karens and harassment.

However, after a terrible night at work where a Karen poured her drink over you and a drunk idiot slapped your ass, you had run out of willingness to deal with bullshit. So, when a trust fund brat tried to make you move from your seat in the library, you refused, glaring at the blurry person standing next to you, ignoring the gasps from the students around you.

You expected him to yell at you, or let his companion, who was glaring hard at you, deal with you. Instead, he spoke briefly with his friend in a language you didn’t recognize. After a minute or so, they both sat down and quietly studied with you

Duke was charmed by your behavior. It has been a long time since anyone outside of the family had said no to him. The look of anger in your eyes was belied by pure exhaustion. He knew you had no clue who he was, and you were too tired to care.

You were interesting. So Duke didn’t let Damian yell at you or (attempt to) intimidate you.(while Damien was very intimidating when he had to be, Duke had a feeling you would not care in the slightest.)

So Duke convinced Damian to sit with him while he observed you studying, instead of discussing Bat business like they had planned. He had known of you, and Duke remembered you being in a few of his classes, but this stunt caught his interest too much to let you go.

You weren’t sure why, but apparently the Wayne kid (or Duke as he insisted you call him) seemed charmed by you basically telling him to fuck off. He started partnering with you in classes when he would normally work alone. He started eating his lunches with you in the library or in the auditorium, even having his brother join you on occasion.

You slowly got used to his presence, and even became begrudgingly fond of him and his little brother, even though his brother tended to stare at you more often than not. You hadn’t had very many friends for a long time, so maybe this was gonna be a good thing.

A big thing with Duke Thomas was that while he may seem calm, he is one of the most calculating of the Yanderes. He will always appear to be on your side, but unable to help you. He will become one of your closest confidence trusted friend , all without you realizing how much of a manipulative and possessive Yandere he is. He just knows that letting you have more of an illusion of power will help in the long run of making you like him.

So for now he’ll be content, letting you slowly come to him, similar to a feral cat. You’ll adore him soon enough. Come to think of it, you might make an excellent addition to the family.~

Edit: Life has been hitting me like a semi truck. I won’t go into too much detail, but I just ended a long-term relationship, had one of my grandparents die, and the other have a stroke. There’s a bunch of other stuff I also could mention, but I don’t wanna talk about it. Updates will be very sporadic for a long time I think. I’m sorry and I really hope you guys understand. Got enough motivation today to finally finish the first part of the Mafia au. Don’t know when I’ll be updating any of the other ones. I really hope you like this.

[shybluebirdninja]

Second Date

continuation from this.

Summary: Logan’s nerves ease up during the second date, as he finally opens up about being a mutant, and things get hilariously sweet and chaotic.

Pairing             : Mutant!Logan Howlett x Human!Fem-reader Genre              : Fluff

You weren’t sure what to expect for the second date. After all, Logan had been… well, awkward as hell the first time. He was cute, sure, but the guy seemed more comfortable punching bad guys than sitting at a bar chatting about work. But still, here you were, standing outside the dessert shop he picked for tonight.

Through the window, you spotted him in his signature flannel, boots still a little muddy—classic Logan. When he saw you, he stood up like a soldier ready for duty. Adorable.

“Hey, babe,” Logan greeted you, catching you off guard. Babe? Really? Since when did he start calling you that?

You blinked, trying not to laugh. “Babe, huh? We're moving fast.”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly not used to the nickname either. “Yeah, uh... figured I’d try it out. Sounded better in my head.”

You smirked. “Nah, it’s cute. Keep it up.”

The place was cozy, full of pastel-colored walls and a dessert counter that looked like it was out of a Pinterest board. Logan looked hilariously out of place—like a bear in a cupcake shop—but you found it charming.

“So, you brought me to a dessert place?” you teased as you sat down.

Logan shrugged, avoiding your eyes. “Figured you'd like it. Plus, beer and wings weren’t exactly a hit last time.”

You grinned. “True. But this is nice. Besides, who doesn’t like sugar?”

Logan cracked a small smile, still fidgeting like he didn’t know where to put his hands. The waitress came by, and you both ordered a ridiculous-looking dessert platter. But Logan stayed quiet for a minute, clearly holding something back.

Finally, after he stabbed his fork into a cupcake, he blurted, “I gotta tell you somethin’.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Sounds serious.”

“I’m, uh... kinda not like most people.” He paused, looking at you for a reaction, but you just nodded. “I’m a mutant.”

You blinked. “Oh. Is that it?”

Logan stared at you like you'd just told him Santa was real. “What d’ya mean, ‘is that it’? I’m practically a walking science experiment! Claws, healing powers, and I’ve lived through more wars than I care to count!”

You sipped your drink and smiled. “Logan, c'mon. Mutants aren’t exactly rare. You know that, right? Everyone’s cool with it now.”

Logan’s face softened, clearly relieved. “Shit. You’re serious?”

You nodded. “Yeah, babe. It's all good. Besides, claws are kinda hot.”

He nearly choked on his cupcake. “Claws are hot?”

You leaned in, grinning. “What else you got?”

Logan finally relaxed, a real smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I can heal pretty quick. Like, faster than you’d believe.”

“Useful in case you fall during the ice skating part of tonight, huh?”

Logan frowned, confused. “Ice skatin’? I don’t—” He trailed off when you pointed at the rink just across the street. “You serious? I’ll look like an idiot.”

“You’ll be fine. Besides, I’m clumsy as hell. You’ll just have to catch me.”

Logan’s expression softened at that, his usual gruffness fading a bit. “Yeah, alright. But if you fall, I’m draggin’ you outta there.”

Half an hour later, you were wobbling on the ice, while Logan, surprisingly stable, kept pace beside you. Turns out super healing makes for decent balance.

“I told you I’d suck at this!” you laughed, nearly toppling over for the third time.

Logan caught your arm, pulling you upright with a grin. “You weren’t lyin’, babe. You’re like a baby deer out here.”

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered, barely keeping your feet under you.

You slipped—again—and this time, Logan yanked you into him, his arms catching you just in time. For a second, you both just stood there, inches apart, his breath warm against your cheek. Logan looked down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re a menace on ice, you know that?”

Before you could snap back, he reached out, lightly pinching your cheek. “But you’re cute as hell, so I guess I can deal.”

Your heart did a little flip. Logan? Pinching cheeks and calling you cute? Who was this guy?

“Y’know, you’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be,” you teased, nudging him.

Logan just grunted, looking away. “Don’t get used to it.”

You chuckled. “Too late, babe.”

The night went on like that—little moments of clumsy skating and playful jabs, Logan more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. By the time you both sat down on a bench outside, you were still laughing about how you’d nearly taken him down with you on the ice.

“Alright, you win,” he said, wiping his brow. “Maybe ice skatin’ ain’t so bad.”

“Maybe?” you raised an eyebrow. “I think you had fun.”

Logan smirked, leaning back. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

Then, before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you—soft at first, but with enough heat to make your stomach flip. And when he pulled back, his eyes had that same mischievous glint from earlier.

“Round three?” he muttered against your lips.

You laughed, cheeks burning. “You’re on, babe.”

[angelyuji]

mr. pines

stanley pines x f!reader

reader needs a job really badly and stanford pines gives her a job... with a couple conditions.

tw // noncon, power imbalance, older man/younger woman, old man stan being gross, slight misogyny (mostly the pet names), also plss lmk if i missed anything

18+!!!!!!!! pls!!! pls!!! mind the tw and tags (also this is posted on my ao3 acc as well!)

you’ve been scrounging around for a job since you moved to gravity falls. finally, after a couple of months of begging around, the diner waitress, susan, had told you that the stan pines might be hiring at the mystery shack. you had promised the landlord that you’d give them the rent as soon as you find a job, but you can tell they were getting tired of letting you stay rent free.

you had walked to the mystery shack, only a 15-minute walk from the apartment. when you walk in, you’re hit with the smell of sandalwood and glue. you walk over to the red-headed teenager at the cashier stand.

“hey, uh- lazy susan said you guys were hiring?” she looks up from her phone to think for a second.

“oh really? um i guess you can check with stan. his office is right down the hall. he should be in there right now.” she points down the dark hallway to your right and goes right back to her phone. you thank her and she gives you a smile in response. goosebumps rise on your skin as you walk down the eerie, dark hallway. you were starting to second guess your choice of jobs, but you knock on the office door before you chicken out.

“come in.” a gruff voice calls from inside. you swallow and open the door.

“hi! i’m here to apply for a job at the mystery shack.” you smile and shut the door behind you. the only light in the room from the windows in the office. he hums and doesn’t say anything. he gestures to the chair next to him. you sit down and look around the messy office. a taxidermized animal head, a statue of an owl, a huge safe, all sorts of odd things litter the office.

“what are some of your qualifications?” he grunts out, surprising you. you list out your old jobs and hand over the resume that you brought. he gives it a once-over before tossing it into the trash can next to him.

“oh i needed that ba-” he holds a hand up and you shut your mouth. you don’t say anything as he leans back in his chair.

“you’ve got potential, (y/n).” he nods, “but… i don’t really want to pay anyone and it doesn’t seem like we really need the people all that much.” he shrugs.

you start to panic, reaching out and grabbing his hand, “please, mr. pines. i really need this job.” you beg and you watch him think for a couple minutes before smiling.

he clears his throat, “you know what, sweetheart? come back after the shack is closed, then we’ll talk about a job.” he stands up, your hands falling back to your sides, and you realize how much taller he was than you, how much more intimidating he was.

you pause to think, but realizing you have no other choice, “sure, i guess i’ll be back around 10 then.” he opens the door, but takes up most of the exit. you squeeze out from around him.

“i’ll see you then, sweetcheeks.” you feel eyes on your ass as you leave the shack. unfortunately, time goes by quickly and you’re back at the mystery shack. your stomach turns, warning you to make the right choice. you quietly go inside and notice that only the lights in stan’s office were on.

you fumble through the shop to the closed door. “hello?” you knock. mr. pines calls out for you to come in. you enter and you see him sitting on his desk, waiting for you. you clear your throat, “hi mr. pines.” he quirks an eyebrow at you and gets up. you force yourself to not back away as he comes closer to you. he walks past you and closes the door. you hear the quiet click of the lock and you feel chills go down your spine. alarms start going off in your head as he goes back and collapses into the chair. he leans back in his chair, groaning.

“so, you want a job here?” stan raises an eyebrow. you nod, “hmm… maybe i can help you, dollface.”

you let out a sigh in relief, “thank you so much, mr. pines. i’ll do anything, i really need this job.”

“anything, huh.” he nods with a smirk. you nod, eagerly.

“i’ll scrub walls, wash your car, or work from open to close! i will do literally anything!”

“you don’t have to do anything like that, sugarpie” you tilt your head, suddenly hearing the pet names. “you’ll just have to do a small little favor for me.” you don’t respond, hoping he’d explain. he gestures for you to come closer. you walk over to his desk and he turns the chair to face you. “kneel down for me.”

you awkwardly giggle, “what?” mr. pines looks at you with an expression you couldn’t read.

“kneel down.” he stands up, you feel your heart drop. stan pines towers over you and grabs a fistful of your hair. he pushes you down and you yelp as your scalp stings. you try to crawl away, but he doesn’t let go of your hair. he uses one hand to unbuckle his belt and let his pants drop. his cock hangs, big and girthy. your eyes go wide.

“mr. pines. please, don’t. i don’t want to do this.” you beg, feeling the panic rise and tears start to well up in your eyes. he looks down at you with a smirk, but let’s go. you scramble up and back against the wall. he sits back down, nonchalantly.

“fine, you can leave, sweetheart.” he shrugs. you back away quickly, hoping to get out of the office as fast as possible. “but…” you pause as your hand touches the doorknob, “you need me, baby. suzie told me about you: new girl with no job, relentless landlord, and not a single friend in town.” he laughs, deep and unsettling.

“fuck. you. i’m going to the cops and i’ll tell them what you did.” you turn and glare, voice dripping in malice. you twist the doorknob, planning to get the hell out of the place.

he stares at you, a smirk resting on his face. you felt frozen in place. “and what then? the people of gravity falls know me, toots. they know of my… reputation. they’re gonna tell you that you should’ve known better. i mean,” he barks out a laugh, “you came to the mystery shack after hours to see me. you should’ve known.” your hand drops from the doorknob. you stare at your feet. “i could help you, (y/n). i’ll pay you good money as long as you meet my requests.” you look up, tears dripping down your face, and stan smiles. he gestures for you to come closer. you, reluctantly, come back to stand in front of him. you make sure to keep your eyes away from his undone pants.

“what-what do you want me to do?” you sniffle. with surprising gentleness, he grabs your hand and helps you to your knees. he cups your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“all you have to do is do what i say. it’s a win-win situation, toots.” you start to feel yourself going numb. his hand leaves your face and he leans back. you inch closer, carefully placing your hands on his thighs. you move one hand up to gingerly wrap it around his cock. you hear him grunt at your touch and your vision starts to blur as your tears flow harder. you steady yourself on his thigh and stroke his dick.

stan groans, but you hear more irritation than arousal. “you don’t have to be so gentle, sweetheart. it won’t bite.” he growls. you swallow back the bile rising in your throat and tighten your grip a little more. with each stroke, stan’s grunts progressively louder. you watch as pre-cum leaks from his tip and feel his dick get harder with every stroke. but as you feel his thighs tense, stan grabs your hand.

“come closer.” he rasped. you inch closer, “i need you to open your mouth, sweetheart.” you hold back a gag and shake your head. stan grabs you by the chin and pulls you closer, you tighten your lips. stan chuckles before letting go of your chin to pinch your nose. your eyes widen, unable to think or breathe. you open your mouth to take a breath and stan lets go of your nose to shove two fingers into your mouth. you gag around his thick fingers, “you are just so beautiful, dollface, i can’t wait to use you every day.” he whispered and you feel a sudden wave of heat in your lower belly. he pulls his fingers out and you try to look away, but stan’s hand tangles itself in your hair. your eyes trail down from his face to his other hand, gripping his thick cock.

“wait-” you choke out, but stan pulls your head forward and plows himself into your mouth. he moves your head frantically, you choke and gargle as saliva and pre-cum drips down your throat and face. tears flow freely from your eyes as you were used as a worthless sex toy. you can feel yourself getting wetter and you feel disgusted.

“oh god, sugar, you feel so good. so. fucking. good.” he groans out, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. you could feel the tip of his dick almost going down your throat. you could see black spots dancing in your vision and you hit stan’s thighs, praying for a reprieve. you swallow around stan’s cock, trying to bring yourself back to consciousness, and stan moans. “oh, fuck,” stan’s hips stutter and he pushes your head down. your nose hits his springy, gray, pubic hair and you can feel his cock pulse as he cums down your throat. his hand loosens from your hair and you lurch backwards, gagging at the leftover taste of his bitter, salty, hot cum. you stumbled to the ground, leaning back against the wall, with your knees pressed to your chest.

“oh god, oh god.” you sob. stan gets up, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. he gets his wallet out and tosses forward a couple hundred-dollar bills. “consider this your signing bonus.” he pulls something out of his drawer and tosses a contract in front of you. “once you sign this, you’re a full-time mystery shack employee.” he walks to the door and opens it to leave, but looks back at you, “you’re a good lay, toots. i’ll see you tomorrow at 6. don’t be late.” he turns and walks out, leaving you shivering and humiliated.

[nemesyaaa]

do revenge // mean!rafe cameron x camdoll!reader

summary ; you were tired and sick of the hell life the well-known kook prince give you. so after being for so long his favorite victim, you decided to fight back.

warnings : dark content. insecurities. revenge plot. bully!rafe. poker face!rafe. sick behavior and toxic attitude. smut. oral(m. receiving). dollification. blackmailing. dubcon. shitty kooks behavior. bad thoughts. quickly mentions of some kinks. self-justice. pogue/kook hate/unfair dynamic. free hate. masked reader. threatening. power imbalance. baddie attitude. minors dni. please, be careful with the warnings.

author's note : the girl on the gifs is not a faceclaim, it's only to show what kinda mask she wear. it's the first time i think i do something like that so......and it's a one-shot, so it's maybe a little too long 💀

you worked as a waitress in a small restaurant. you hated this job but you had to make money and today the place was a little empty so you thought you could relax but that was before Rafe showed up with his gang of kooks. you had started shaking as soon as you saw them. you felt so small and trapped, your breath sped up. there was like a lack of air in your lungs because you knew how rafe was with you, how much he hated you but above all, how much he loved to humiliate you. it was his favorite pleasure: being cruel to you. and damn, he knew how to hurt you better than anyone. he must have broken so many things in you, your ego, your heart, your self-esteem, your confidence, your joy of living that you wondered how you were still standing in his presence.

with a tense smile, you approached them because you also couldn't escape the group. you hugged your notepad to your chest, pressing tightly the page against your breasts. you were about to open your mouth when rafe cut you off.

“i understand better why this restaurant is so empty…” he commented, looking you up and down. “ but what i don’t get is why you haven’t been fired yet when you’re scaring customers away.”

“apparently not everyone since you're here...." that was what you wanted to answer but you preferred to kill yourself rather than make a remark to rafe that was going to cost you your life. and you wouldn't want to give him this pleasure.

“have you chosen what you want? ” you said, addressing everyone, preferring to ignore the leader of the kooks group.

“it’s so cheap here. ” he had commented. “ very cheap. ” from his insistent look, you understood that he was including you in his criticism. he was very childish.

you nervously tighten your grip on your pen. of all rafe's friends, topper seemed the most sensitive to what you were going through but he always stayed quiet. this idiot finally ordered cocktails. the words had to be ripped out of his mouth.

when you came back with the drinks, you delicately placed them on the table. you were embarrassed by the way rafe stared at you like you had something on your face, like he was planning another nasty remark. and it didn't take long, because the next minute, he had managed to make you cry and made everyone laugh.

when you handed him his glass, he purposely knocked it to the ground.

“what are you waiting for, pogue? clean it. it's not like it's new to you, you're used to cleaning up other people's shit. "

burning tears started to come out of your eyes, you bit your trembling lip. your throat was tight, and you hated everything you were feeling right now. the shame, the humiliation, the fear, it destroyed you.

you brought something to clean before bending down. he hadn't apologized. he never did it anyway. you kept all this grudge inside of you, even if it killed you.

he picked up your rag with a smirk. “you don't need that when you can use your tongue. ”

you looked at him with wide eyes, as if you had heard wrong. topper had intervened before you did. “hey dude, no need to go that far.”

“shut up, topper. i really need to show you that all women are fucking dirty and disgusting sluts. so stop protecting them, and watch the show i put on for you. and for free. ”

"rafe...listen..." you said softly.

“you better listen to me if you don't want to be fired. you know how good i am at making your life hell.” you started to kneel down, bringing your face closer to the ground. “yes, you understand very easily, maybe you can show your ass to the camera too. record it, kelce. lick it well, sweetheart. don't want to see your ugly face on the screen. “

this day was the last straw. it was worse than anything. it was completely degrading and nasty.

and it was surely at that precise moment, that night to be exact, that everything had changed in you. that you had decided that this couldn't last, that you had to play into the enemy's game to defeat him, that sometimes you had to be unfair when he cheated, that when someone was bad, you had to be tougher and stronger.

it had been several years that you had endured criticism from rafe and kooks about your physique, your pogue condition, that your face was the center of mockery and the worst jokes, that it lasted to the point that you had surely become the funniest joke or meme in the island.

but you had grown up. you had prepared your revenge over several months. because you couldn't pretend it didn't affect you. but all the hatred you had felt for yourself had started to turn towards rafe, to give you a reason to live, a purpose because he had given you a furious and crazy idea.

he had humiliated you. and he was going to taste his own medicine.

deep down, you weren't just doing this for yourself but for all the pogue girls who had suffered harassment from kook boys, for all the girls who had received bad treatment because they didn't look like princesses, for all the girls who were made to believe that they deserved nothing because they did not meet the physical standards. you had to put an end to this nonsense.

so after five months, you had become what rafe loved the most. you had become a very popular online camdoll for kooks. you wore a mask that hid your facial identity enough to not be recognized. you had a completely different style. you were surely prettier, more magnificent in his eyes. because he had fallen into the trap. he had this slightly superficial side. you knew you had succeeded from the moment you felt the difference. not only did he want you, but he wanted to possess you.

he was one of your loyal viewers. he didn't have his first name as a username but you knew it was him. his messages had the same tone as when he spoke to you.

he was pathetic, because he paid to see your content, to talk to you, to hear you touch yourself, to do dirty things to you. no matter how much you charged.

he even sent you a video of him jerking off on one of your lives. you couldn't lie, you had watched the entire video. his fist was wrapped around his painfully cock, moving up and down, the leaking tip disappearing and appearing with the speed of his thrusts, the way his boner grew bigger the more he thought of you. he was going so fast that his bulge was literally slapping against his hand with a loud, obscene noise, his sagging balls moving in rhythm. his hair was messy, there was a quiver in his lips every time he made a grunt. “ fuck...fuck...fuc'...gonna fuck that dollface one day...gonna get this dick all in your dumb pussy. ” his length was very feverish and at the same time hard, shaken with spasms. the veins pumped by his strokes. he had come in such a short time, loads of cum exploding all over his sweating chest. he had wiped everything with a pack of tissues. and just when you thought the video had come, he started again.

you never responded. only downloaded the video and stored in a confidential folder.

but one day, he spoiled you a little too much. however, you weren't doing anything really crazy. you fulfilled clients' requests — which involved masturbating with a vibrator, playing with your breasts while riding a dildo, putting as many fingers as your viewers wanted in your pussy, letting them dress you however they wanted, letting them make you crazy stupid and vulnerable, doing little shows and hauls until you end up naked, playing with the food on your body, recording your orgasms, filming you when you slept naked or took a shower.

you had decided to thank rafe for his expensive gifts by asking him to come to your house. you had a studio that you had decorated, enough to make him believe that you lived well, and that you could be a kook. obviously, he had accepted and of course, he was hoping for sex when you told him you had a surprise for him.

it was, he was going to have sex. and you a revenge.

rafe had always assumed that he hated you, the shitty, ugly pogue, that he would never sleep with you. and to quote his own words “even for a million, i could never fuck such a disgusting thing. ” and it was always in public, in front of people. then you were going to do the exact same thing. you were going to fuck with him, and if he loved show that much, he was not going to be disappointed.

on the day, you had prepared yourself for the occasion. while you were getting ready, there were tons of flashbacks in your head, scenes, words that kept coming back. all this cruelty that could make you vomit.

“i really thought alcohol would help me find you attractive but no, you're still just as ugly. i thought it was a pogue thing baby but actually it's just you. ” it was rafe.

“ i felt like i had hit you in the face ten thousand times with my golf ball. ” it was still rafe.

“the difference between you and the other pogues? is that you angel, you will never be able to hide the fact that you are one. all the misery shows on your face. ” always rafe.

and it was each time heavier, more hardcore. he reminded you of your condition, but also of how much he couldn't see you. you were too horrible. you never told anyone about this treatment, about all this hatred. but you had now learned, from the best, how to make noise.

you wiped away your tears, and brought the mask to your face. “i can do it. ” you muttered to yourself as you began to get slightly anxious. you were afraid of breaking down in the middle of the act, of finally not being sure you wanted all of this. you felt mixed feelings. was it really good to do that, was it really right? but on the one hand, what had justice done for you until now? absolutely nothing. like everyone else, she had watched you get humiliated. so it was just common sense?

the door to your studio rang. you opened it. you couldn’t lie that rafe was really handsome and smell good. but the first thing you noticed was his smile.

he was completely different. you could see in his eyes for the first time, something positive towards you.

" welcome. ” you said with a smile, inviting him inside.

oh he resisted the urge to kiss you, his hands were in his pockets but they were nervous and unsteady. they wanted to be on you.

“do you want to drink something? ” you added the name of the cocktail he always had at your restaurant. you had done it on purpose but he hadn't noticed. he nodded.

“are you going to take off your mask one day? ”

“without it, i am no longer what i am. so it's better that i keep it. isn’t that all you want me to be? a doll. ”

“no, you’re right. then at least i know you're not a fucking pogue. ”

“it would be bad for your reputation too. i already see the headlines and the taunts "rafe cameron fucks a pogue" and people will laugh at you, and you hate it being humiliated. no one likes it. ”

“you look really nice, doll. i mean, kind.” he replied.

“i am but i believe that some people. ” you pressed the word, and gave him an honest look. “have abused a lot of this part of me. that's why i'm a doll, i don't have to feel anything, just do what people want me for. you can fulfill your every desire with me. do you want to see me in a certain dress? let me change. do you want to release your anger in me? let me help you. do you just want to fuck me? i am literally made for this. ”

“you are made for me. ” you smiled through the mask because in a way, he was right. he had created your character.

“do you mind if i film? i really want to record this. you are the first customer I have met. it's special for me. ”

" no. at least people will know to who you belong. ”

“that’s exactly it. ” you lied when starting the live. “let’s get started. ”

you had removed his pants and his boxers, placing yourself between his thick tighs, he was so much bigger than you that you looked like a small caged thing.

you placed your outrageously manicured hands on his open legs, your mouth sinking and wrapping around his hard cock. your tongue had started rolling around the girth, you could feel the small drop of precum going down your throat. this part that he was soon going to get fucked strongly and hard.

you wanted to drive him crazy, see him sweat like a pig because you were so good, because you did it all too well. he had wrapped your hair in a grip to make it easier to pull on it. “yes...suck that cock...just like that...let me ruin that mouth...fuck…”

your dripping lips were stretched by the size of his length, and the way it was getting completely hard inside of you. you could feel the drool running down the sides of your mouth. you felt every inch of his penis fucking your throat. and through your mask, you saw his smirks. he pulled your hair, and you took all of him, until your face came into contact with his pelvis, every bit of him was in you. you almost gagged.

he had barely pulled out of you before he entered you again. his cock worked against your tongue, brushing it harshly, the tip tapping the back of your throat. your cheeks were sunken, and your lips drowned between spittles and saliva. “you're perfect, doll...you really know how to suck...i could really take advantage of the situation if you keep this up...” at his words, you sucked him faster, pumping efficiently while his hand stroked your hair. his fingers moved along with your head.

he was completely using you, doing whatever he wanted with you. and you let him do it, because you wanted him to be proud of himself and to be seen on camera. he had pushed his cock onto your mask, decorating it with saliva, your own currently drooling. “so pretty. ” he had commented. he pushed his cock back into your mouth without warning, taking it ever deeper. you felt fizzy. your lips were open and used for several minutes non-stop, your throat puckered and pummeled. your jaw was starting to hurt, but you didn’t show it. you had to be perfect, packaged the way he wanted. your tongue flickered around him, teasing his girth.

“ need to be inside you...so bad...you make me feel so good. it's your face, doll. you're divine.”

maybe he had a mask kink to say that, to also be turned on by a fucking plastic object. or maybe it was the face he imagined behind it all? you didn't know.

he had thrown you on the bed, opened your legs in two and pushed your body against his hips, pulling you by the waist. his cock had twitching, purring some pre-cum, at the contact with your soaked cunt.

“ i could never sleep with a pogue. but especially with you, just thinking about it makes me vomit. “ it was perfect that you remembered that in the moment, as he thrust into you, his hips moving slowly.

your pussy clenched around his cock, barely letting him move without hurting you. “ fuck, you're so fucking tight, doll....need me to stretch this pretty little cunt. i'm gonna make you so dumb. “

you couldn’t hide that you still got wet, and damn, he knew how to fuck and you couldn’t be his first time. he had started pounding into you once your pussy had started to ease around him.

it was really intense, his body slamming violently against yours, the strike echoing through the room. your weak moans but which he heard very clearly, and which encouraged him to go even further within your walls. he pushed himself even more to hear you scream. he had a goal and he wanted to make you so stupid that in the end you wouldn't be able to do anything.

he buried himself inside you, his powerful thrusts stretching your pussy, your body twitching beneath him. he was on top of you, staring into your eyes. you were a little fascinated. his shoulders were broad and muscular, his arms heavy and toned, and his abs were perfect arranged into six packs. his hair fell on his forehead.

he couldn’t see the emotions on your face, nor clearly define what you were feeling. he only had your voice and the reactions of your body.

your pussy hugged him with each strokes, he filled you completely, making his way to your spot. your puffy slit was spread, capturing his bulge. you squeezed him harder, he startly getting down, the wet and dirty sounds of his hips rocking your body. you could see the vein on his neck, his contracted muscles covered in sweat.

he had placed his lips on yours, his mouth kissing yours. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, gently guiding the kiss with your tongue.

he continued to fuck you, while playing with his tongue in your mouth, kissing you without limits, until your lips and jaws were covered in drool. you waited for him to cum inside you. but he hadn't pulled out while you were flooded, loaded with his cum, and some orgasms you'd had. it dripped from your slit onto the sheets. he had placed the tip of his cock back in front of your entrance, picking up where his enjoyment had left you off.

this time it was a little gentler. it was like you had established a little intimacy even though you knew it wasn't true. after a few minutes, he stopped.

" are you always being that kind ?…”

“ you think i'm a mean person ? ”

“ you never hurt people ? never in your life ? ” you asked him, with a friendly tone.

“ what if ? ”

“ don't freak out. everyone has a mean side. now, you got me curious. can you tell me the worst thing you have done to someone ? ”

“ maybe it was to one of that trashy pogue…” it started, and you forced yourself to not react when you saw the smile on his face. even after years, it didn't regret anything. because obviously, he talked about you.

“ thank you for confessing this story to me. now, i have a gift for you…” you said with a fakely soft voice. “ it was not the sex part. i'm willing to let you see me without my mask. i really want you to see me because i trust you. ” was obviously a lie.

“are you sure? ” he was so surprised by your proposal. “ don't you want to tell me something worse you did to someone too ? ”

“ oh, it's part of the gift, rafe . ”

at this moment, he knew. he fucking knew.

he had removed your mask.

because of the shock, he took a step back.

his face was indescribable.

“oh no, you can't pretend to be disgusted, not after fucking me like you've wanted this your whole life. ” you smiled. “what did you say before? that you could throw up? liar. you came so hard in me. and, it is still dripping. come on, don't run away, give a closer look. maybe i should make you clean the mess you made with your tongue. like you did to me. maybe, this time you will vomit. but i'm not sure, you're such a pathetic hater. and i'm just not afraid of you anymore. ”

“what the fuck is wrong with you, pogue ?! did you have fun?”

“ pogue ? ” you mocked. “ was babydoll, sweetheart, a few minutes ago. now, it's pogue ? how it feels, rafe ? how does it feel to be humiliated ? i think, it's better for you to apologize for all these years. but not only for me, for every pogue. ”

a crazy laugh escaped his lips, as he came closer to you. “ really ? what make you feel that i will apologize ? especially to you. ”

“ because now, the game is over. it's a war and i'm gonna fight back. it means, i will drag you down. every secret, every weakness, every move that you want to hide from me will be from now my first concern. i'm glad that you hate me because it's only the beginning. ”

“ you really think that you have some power over me ? be serious. ”

“ it's not about power at all. it's about justice. ”

i also wanted to thanks @bunnyrafe @rafecameroninterlude and @bimbotrashcan who helped me a lot, and trusted me for this !! tysm, i'm very grateful <333

[erisv7]

The Price of Obsession

ᴀ/ɴ : ɪ ᴀʙsᴏʟᴜᴛᴇʟʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʀɪᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴀ��ᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴡʀᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ғɪɴɢᴇʀ 🙂‍↔️

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ : Leaving was never a choice, honey. Not in Rio's world. Once you enter, you can never escape.

Rio Vidal was a woman of power, elegance, and unimaginable wealth. Her influence reached into places most people didn’t even know existed, and her name carried weight that could break or build empires. She could have had anyone she wanted. But she didn’t want them. She wanted you.

You, with your sharp tongue, demanding nature, and unapologetic greed. You were spoiled, arrogant, and cruel in ways that would make others flinch. But Rio didn’t care. She adored it. She adored you.

And you knew it.

││││││││

It had been months since Rio made you hers, lavishing you with endless gifts, money, and luxury. You knew she had the resources to spoil you rotten, and you took full advantage. Your shopping sprees were legendary, your parties lavish. Every expensive handbag, every pair of designer shoes, and every glittering piece of jewelry you desired became yours with a snap of your fingers.

You loved the control, the power of having someone like Rio wrapped around your finger. If anyone dared to outshine you, you made sure they regretted it.

The waitstaff at Rio’s private events knew better than to cross you. One word of disapproval from you and their jobs were at risk. If you saw a waitress who was too pretty or caught Rio’s eye for even a second too long, you’d make a scene.

“This one?” you scoffed, gesturing to a trembling server at a recent gala. “She looks like she’s trying too hard. Tell her to fix that face before she serves me again.”

The poor girl’s face paled as she hurried away, but you smirked, reveling in your victory.

Rio’s dark eyes followed the scene, her lips curling into an amused smile. “Jealous?” she murmured, wrapping an arm possessively around your waist.

“Hardly,” you replied, flipping your hair. “But you’re mine. No one gets to even think about you without my permission.”

If only you knew the lengths Rio went to make sure that was true.

││││││││

Rio’s love for you wasn’t just adoration, it was obsession. She adored your fire, your cruelty, your unapologetic demands. She didn’t care that you treated her money like an infinite resource. To her, you deserved the world and more.

But Rio’s devotion had a darker side.

The waitress you had humiliated earlier? She was gone before the night was over. Rio had her people handle it, quietly and cleanly. The girl wasn’t just fired. Her entire life was dismantled. No job, no future, no hope. It wasn’t personal; it was necessary. Anyone who made you even the slightest bit uncomfortable was a threat, and Rio had no tolerance for threats.

She’d destroyed families over less.

││││││││

From the moment Rio took you into her world of luxury, you embraced it wholeheartedly. You were a goddess who deserved worship, and Rio was the perfect devotee.

But you weren’t just spoiled—you were clever. You knew the game you were playing, and you knew exactly how much power you held.

“Do you know how many men would beg for the chance to replace you?” you said one evening, reclining on the velvet chaise in Rio’s penthouse. “If you ever get tired of me, I could have a dozen men lined up by morning. And they’d be rich enough to match you.”

You watched her reaction carefully, sipping on the glass of wine she had poured for you.

Rio’s dark eyes glinted with something dangerous, though her smile never faltered. “Is that what you think?” she murmured, stepping closer until she towered over you. “That I’d let anyone take you away from me?”

You smirked, enjoying the way she always rose to your provocations. “What could you do to stop it?”

Her hand caressed your cheek, deceptively gentle. “You’re mine,” she said, her voice low and unwavering. “No one else will ever have you. Not while I’m alive. And if someone tries-” She leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear. “-they won’t live long enough to regret it.”

There was no doubt in your mind that she meant every word.

││││││││

One evening, at a gala, a particularly bold tech billionaire had cornered you by the bar, his intentions clear. He leaned in close, his hand brushing against yours as he spoke. “You deserve someone who can spoil you properly.” he said, flashing a cocky smile.

You laughed, more amused than flattered. “You think you can keep up with what I already have?” you teased.

Rio, watching from across the room, didn’t react outwardly. She continued sipping her champagne, her face calm and unreadable. But her eyes never left you.

The next morning, the billionaire’s company suffered a sudden and catastrophic collapse. Investigations were launched, accusations flew, and within a week, he was a ruined man.

You didn’t have to ask Rio if she was behind it. You already knew.

And as much as you enjoyed pushing Rio’s buttons, a part of you relished the chaos she wrought in your name. Because no matter how much you teased or provoked her, one thing was certain: you were hers, and she would burn the world to keep it that way.

││││││││

It was meant to be a harmless act of rebellion. You had grown bored, restless, tired of the constant adoration and control. You wanted to see if you could truly break free from Rio’s grasp, just to prove to yourself that you could.

You packed a bag while she was out handling “business” and slipped out of the penthouse. You didn’t get far.

Before you could even leave the building, two of Rio’s security guards appeared, blocking your path.

“Where do you think you’re going, Miss?” one of them asked, his tone polite but firm.

“Out,” you snapped. “And unless you want to lose your jobs, you’ll let me pass.”

They didn’t budge.

Within minutes, Rio herself appeared. She was calm, composed, her dark eyes boring into yours as she approached.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with something that sent a chill down your spine.

You straightened, refusing to show fear. “I just want to go out, Rio.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Oh?” she whispered. “You think you have a choice?”

Before you could respond, she nodded to her guards. The last thing you saw was their cold expressions before everything went black.

││││││││

When you woke up, you weren’t in the penthouse anymore. The room was luxurious, of course, soft silk sheets, ornate furniture, and the faint scent of roses. But the windows were sealed, and the door was locked.

Rio sat in a chair by the bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Rio,” you said, your voice hoarse. “What is this?”

“This,” she said calmly, standing and walking over to you, “is where you’ll stay until you understand.”

“Understand what?” you snapped, sitting up.

She leaned down, her face inches from yours. “That you’re mine. That you don’t leave me. Ever.”

You stared at her, a mix of disbelief and anger coursing through you. “You’re insane.”

She smiled at that, a slow, chilling smile that made your blood run cold. “Maybe. But you made me this way. You’re the one who wanted my attention, my love, my money. And now you have it. All of it.”

“Shh,” she whispered. “You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you. Everything you want, I’ll give you. Everything you need, I’ll provide. But don’t think for a second that you can leave me.”

It's like she can read your mind.

Her hand moved to your wrist, and that’s when you felt it. A cold, unyielding metal band. A chain connected it to the bedpost.

Your heart raced. “Rio, this is insane!”

She tilted her head, her smile soft and loving, as if you hadn’t just called her a monster. “You made me insane. And now you’ll live with it.”

││││││││

ᴀ/ɴ : ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴀ sᴇʀɪᴇs. ʙᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɢᴀᴛʜᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ʀɪᴏ. ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ?! ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʟɪғᴇ.

[princesspetticoat]

The Muse of Her Ruin

Artist Modern AU: Chapter 1/? — Caramel

Summary:

Los Angeles was supposed to be your perfect canvas, but the struggle to make it leaves you feeling burnt out – until Agatha Harkness paints you into her world.

In her hands, you’re more than an artist, and she knows exactly how to mold you into her newest masterpiece.

Tags:

agatha!reader, age gap, mommy kink, slow burn, mean!agatha, possessive!agatha, AU: Art world of Los Angeles, portrait of a witch on fire, reader is babygirl, the witch wears prada, sugar mommy vibes, slight Rio/reader but only to make Agatha jealous, agatha can’t beat the AI allegations, dacryphilia, eventual smut, angst, MDLG, bratty bottom, BDSM, praise kink, degradation, strap-ons, anal, dub con, slight piss kink, squirting, power dynamics, possible memory loss and magic maybe idk, kitten play, electrostimulation, humiliation, overstimulation, exhibitionism for the art, let the bodies hit the floor, more tags later because i’m sure i’ll find something else to be foul about

Links: Twitter | AO3

Chapter 1: Caramel

It isn’t the first time a beautiful woman has stopped you in your doom scrolling on the internet. You’ve had your share of rabbit-holing through Instagram profiles, tagged photos, your finger hovering over the DM button with a wave of confidence that only comes when you’ve had a drink or two in your system.

But this woman, this one comes with an extension of discovery.

Just by googling her name, a thousand articles pop up. Art piece installations cascade every website, timeline, and city cultural journal. Jesus, then the red carpet photos multiply as the SEO of your web browser catches on to your sudden enthrall of dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

Oh, and the hashtags. #WitchyArt #HarknessAndDesire #CursedCanvas. Layers of art plummet before you, most requesting to select if you’d like to view the art or not because of its lewd nature, violating community guidelines.

#AgathaHarknessUnveiled

A public invitation to forbiddenness. You’re intrigued.

Then more pictures of her show up, next to her work, her models, famous celebrities that you never knew were part of the same circle. You realize you’ve been following her art closely for years, and had even gone to one of her art installations at the LACMA a couple years back.

She has no social media and you quickly piece together why you haven’t been able to put a face to the name until now. The Agatha Harkness.

You curse yourself for living and breathing on Instagram, reading little excerpts about her pieces here and there, never proceeding past searching her name up one single time after seeing her most famous artwork grace the official Broad Museum verified account:

The Unbound: Agatha Harkness - A Palette of Desire contemporary collection of ‘22.

Ask AI or Search: Agatha Harkness

…

However, you were met with the reflection of: ‘⚠️ zero search results found’ staring back at you on your phone screen, and that was that.

Now, you pull open your ‘Painting Inspo’ Pinterest board to see a piece of hers pinned neatly between other modern art you admire. The pin is plainly titled and paired with a now-purple hyperlink to an article, with one of the most commanding portraits of her in a suit, standing sharply next to her work.

It had all been right there, connected, laid out before you. You scold yourself again. You could’ve been in this woman’s circle the moment you moved to Los Angeles. Only now she’s magically moved from your subconscious to reality.

All it took was a simple Google search to be completely floored.

Right place, right time, you think, as it were. Originally, you were filtering through junior-level marketing positions, revamping your resume for the umpteenth time. Waitressing just wasn’t cutting it anymore, you needed a big girl job. Even if you didn’t have the experience.

And, to be honest, people really do act like that in Los Angeles. Customer service is nothing short of unbearable.

You’d huffed and slammed your laptop, tired of the almost-hour it took to submit one clean job application, flopped on your bed, and began the inevitable doom scroll.

And there she was, in all her glory. Featured in one major headline that caught your eye (apart from every photo ever of her maddeningly hypnotizing smile).

Grand Opening of the Harkness Collection, March 2025 — DTLA, Seeking Social Media Manager Position.

You could do it, you think.

The link to apply for the position already looks infinitely better than the bland, morose copy/paste templates thrown around every typical job website like a hot potato.

This just might get your foot in the door.

You’ve painted your whole life, always the kid doodling in the corner of your notebooks in class. You’ve done your fair share of moronically smacking people with your big art portfolio at the end of each year in high school when you rounded corners.

Art school in Portland had its ups and downs. Your father used every last penny he had to see your dreams come true, and your mother hated you for it. Blamed you, even, for sucking his wallet dry. But it was of his own accord to pay for tuition, and you had nothing else to show for it. You had a real talent.

At least, that’s what Mrs. Montgomery had told you.

Your art teacher for grades 11-12 was someone who was stern but had a mother’s touch. You really only knew the stern part back home, and then some, after the divorce.

But Mrs. Montgomery not only put you on a pedestal, she really critiqued you. She actually pushed you, improved your skills and adorned her Letter of Recommendation to your chosen college with accolades of admiration you couldn’t possibly achieve from your own mother.

If it wasn’t obvious already, you were completely smitten. And you know what else? You could trust her as far as you could throw her.

The after school meetings, the one-on-one sessions after class to help finish up an end of the year project. Anything to get a sliver of praise. Anything to prevent the bus ride home.

After college, though, you moved to Los Angeles in hopes of joining a gallery or an art community. You got sucked into the limelight, the overbearing and overwhelming nature of the city of angels. Everyone seemingly looks better than you, doing more than you, everyone trying to prove themselves somewhere. Nothing felt real.

You felt like a failure.

Email threads to galleries went stale and not to mention renting out studios could carve a hole into your credit card. It’s been three whole years since moving here after college, stuck in the same job you started with. The only real friend you made was from college, Oliver, who really was the one who dragged you out to California in the first place.

One friend, one lame job, one-room studio apartment, and no art to show for it. You start to think that this dream was meant to fizzle out and you’re supposed to become another cog in the wheel of Capitalism just like everybody else.

Whatever. You craft a partially-truthful resume, and an overzealous cover letter.

Somewhere in there you lie about managing a social media page for a cafe that doesn’t exist, and that you’ve worked with a few semi-recognizable artists in the industry as their interns. Right.

But for the record, this is working for Agatha Harkness. You’ve got to make it look like you’re somebody. You imagine yourself at her side on those red carpets, getting to pick her brain about all the art she’s created. You’ll get to show her the paintings you made, she’ll praise you, you’ll blush, and you’ll fall pathetically under her spell. Fuck.

Do you want the job or do you want her?

You suppose wanting both isn’t selfish. It’s ambitious. And you’re sick of circling around a realm that’s just out of reach.

You look at the unfinished canvases stowed in the corner of your apartment, the murky ‘mystery soup’ graying in several mason jars that scatter your work area. The dried paint, the tubes of acrylics strewn about. You can’t even remember the last time you painted.

If a hot, older woman was the motivation to be the artist you were always meant to be, then fuck it. You hit ‘submit’ on the application and sigh, closing your laptop with a better feeling of finality than the first time.

You never really get your hopes up about a job position, but for the rest of the day you find yourself tapping away anxiously, your mind scattered with the possibility of Agatha Harkness, of all people, becoming your boss.

————————————

The next morning you’re disruptively awakened by the buzzing of your phone. You begrudgingly hit ‘accept’ on the unknown number and pick up the line.

“Hello?” you answer and do your best not to sound utterly corpse-like.

“Hi!” a sweet voice greets you from the other end, “my name is Jennifer Kale, calling about the social media manager position for Ms. Harkness. Is this —?”

“Yes,” you shoot up, now seated in bed and exclaim before she can even finish her sentence. “This is she.”

She goes on to tell you how impressed she was with your resume and your expert copyright. You did always have a way with words, you forget how powerful they are as a way to get you exactly what you want.

“I saw in your CV that you have your work displayed at a cafe in Echo Park, is that right?”

You tell her of the few pieces you have displayed there and how you’ve made good friends with the owner. Jen mentions she’s relayed your portfolio, website, and resume to Agatha already and your breath instantly hitches.

She then goes to say that Agatha would like to personally meet you at that cafe for an interview. Tomorrow.

You nod and stutter a quick ‘yes’ into the speaker, forgetting you were on the phone at all. Lost in the possibility — no, actuality — of meeting Agatha.

After exchanging times and contact information, the line clicks blank and all the roaring thoughts begin to pour in. The anxiety, the expectations, the thought of being examined, let alone perceived by this powerful woman.

Your stomach kind of flutters at the thought, though. Her domineering presence picking you apart until you tell her exactly what she wants…and then she’ll hire you.

The confidence you feel mixed with the sheer horror of pretending you’re more than you say you are. You hope she doesn’t see through the lies.

But then again, so many people in the world have jobs they aren’t qualified for. They don’t even know what they’re doing, especially bosses and CEOs. So you’re sure Agatha can appreciate a little ‘fake it til you make it’; particularly from someone who really wants this.

————————————

You arrive infinitely early to the interview in the car you never use since everything in Downtown LA is right outside your apartment door.

The parking was the biggest hurdle but you gave yourself ample time to prepare.

The sun beats down on you as you exit your car, despite the crisp air of the early Spring morning. You shuffle down the hill to the sprawling city strip of hipster cafes, vintage thrifts, and mom ‘n pop shops. Your favorite cafe is squished between them, a true hole in the wall.

One of your favorite baristas greets you from behind the counter when you walk in. It looks like you beat the morning rush, everyone already taken to their seats, noses pressed to their laptops in concentration.

You order your favorite iced latte and wait at the bar, albeit with impatience. The barista questions your nervousness and you lean in with excitement.

“I have an interview,” you smile.

“Here?!”

“Yes, here, well — not here here, but yeah. It’s with one of the most well known artists. She’s…fascinating.”

And you gush over her for a moment, her art, her looks, the job position, while periodically checking the clock that sits behind the espresso bar, like, every five seconds.

You notice their smile grows wider as you wrap up your story, handing you your latte. But what you don’t notice is the person who just walked in, approaching the next spot in line.

“Have a great interview,” the barista dazzles in a cheeky whisper, eyes flitting to someone behind you.

Your realization hits when you turn and your latte hits her, square in the chest.

The cold liquid clashes between you two as you bump into each other, the cap coming clean off, with bits of ice clattering to the floor.

“Oh my god I am so sorry,” you babble, reaching for napkins and grabbing a fistful from who knows where.

You scramble to wipe up the mess, avoiding eye contact as Agatha steps back to examine the huge spot now staining her crisp white shirt. She can’t even get a word in before you scurry to the bathroom.

How stupid can you possibly be?

You beat yourself up in your thoughts as you gather yourself, and, clumsily, several ice cubes that managed to fall into your bra.

With a wet paper towel you clean the coffee off your front as much as you can before taking a deep breath, fixing your hair in the mirror and hoping when you step out of the bathroom, she’ll still be there waiting for you.

The bathroom door teeters and squeaks awkwardly as you push it open. You survey the cafe lobby and find Agatha opening a notebook and pulling out papers, and your resume.

You don’t think she realized you’re the one she’s supposed to interview. And you can’t even weigh what scenario would be more embarrassing.

You slide into the chair across from her, snaking your bag down to the floor and pulling out your own resume copy. You notice her blouse is completely drink-free and it catches you off guard. The coffee stains on your shirt are terribly evident despite your efforts in cleaning yourself up.

“You should’ve written your name as Caramel at the top of your resume,” she states while still looking down at the paper. Oh, of course she knows it’s you.

Looking down at yourself you realize there’s a streak of caramel syrup dripping down your cleavage.

Your eyes flick to hers, and she’s looking at you now, for the first time. There’s a long beat that clenches your throat and you forget how to speak.

You know her eyes are blue but holy shit, they’re palpably blue. And they hold yours in suspension, her gaze lingering for a moment too long before returning to her paper.

Your cheeks warm with a feverish blush, and you take a napkin to wipe the syrup away, leaving your skin sticky and shiny.

Her eyes move to your cleavage again as she shifts slightly in her seat, adjusting her stature. She scans over your resume agonizingly slow now and this long gap of silence has your nerves bubbling.

Maybe it’s a good thing the coffee spilled, because you’re sure the caffeine would give you a panic attack right about now.

“It doesn’t state in here that you use condiments as a painting medium, so, tell me your process,” Agatha jokes, but her tone is blunt.

You breathe a laugh and smile anyway, wanting to squash the awkwardness and tension so badly. Taking a second, you muster up an ounce of courage. You have to prove yourself now after this train wreck.

“I could probably use caramel as a medium,” you shrug, meeting her stark gaze again.

Agatha quirks one brow, egging you to go on.

“It’s got a similar consistency to a fast dry. Could probably even be worked into a glaze too. It could make a really nice maple color over some oils. I work with acrylics, watercolors, too, but it probably would leave paintings like that,” you take in a ragged breath, your mind catching up to just how stupid you sound, “…sticky.”

She smiles for the first time, a wicked smolder perking the corners of her lips. Amusement flares in her eyes, and you swear you can almost see them darken.

“Your skills?”

You take a deep breath before you begin, grounding yourself. “Time management, organization, I’m ambitious and work well with others. I also have really good memori –”

“You know,” she dawdles, “none of your references called me back,” she states, practically disregarding the answer to her last question.

Your mouth parts in silence.

“Oh,” is the only pathetic word you can assemble. “That’s weird,” you breathe, thoroughly fucking failing.

“I’m sure they’re all busy artists.”

And you just know she’s seeing right through you.

“But…your copywriting is very good. I’ve seen your social media, your website, you’ve got a way with words, hon.”

Your neck and chest must be as red as your face now. But the way she looks at you, blue eyes dark yet twinkling with intrigue, you’re blushing for an entirely different reason.

“Thank you,” you manage, and you give her a truthful look that you really need this, that you really want this. Because you just want something to go right for once in your life. You need to find your purpose again.

It’s like she can hear your thoughts as she studies you. It’s hard to look away when you meet her eyes again. As if she’s holding you in the palm of her hand, weighing you, rolling you between her fingers, testing to see if she should clench and squeeze the dream right from your heart.

“You know, I don’t normally meet with artists in this circumstance, or even in such a…sticky manner.”

And you blush for the millionth time.

“But I’d like to test your writing skills. I’m hosting a live painting session this weekend that I want you to come to and write a little mockup article for. If I dig it, you get the job, sweetheart.”

Her words drip like honey, the opportunity laid out before you, sounding sweet to your ears. It’s almost unbelievable.

“Wow, thank you so much Ms. Harkness,” you fawn, beaming a smile.

“Agatha,” she says warmly, holding out her hand for you to shake.

You hesitate for a moment before taking her hand in yours, her slender, delicate fingers just barely grazing the inside of your wrist. Something flutters in your stomach at the contact, like a chemical reaction right in your core.

The embrace is subtle, but it carries the weight of something more than just a job, more than just a task she’s asking you to complete. You tug your hand away, but the air between you stays charged.

“I won’t let you down,” you exhale earnestly.

Agatha blinks at you slowly, that smile never faltering, “good girl.”

She rises now, collecting her papers and notebook, storing them inside a black tote bag. “My assistant will be in touch.”

You absentmindedly nod to her, feeling her presence leave, with the click of the cafe door echoing in your ears. You’re completely dumbfounded. What just happened?

Did you actually manage to fake your way to the top? You have a real shot now at getting this position. And the way she looked at you, like she just knew what you were capable of?

Her request is simple, just a mockup article. Nothing truly serious. The significance of her words, though, make your heart race. The heady mix of exhilaration and nerve wracking anticipation makes you dizzy at the thought. And her praise.

Good girl.

You’re completely slack-jawed at the thought of it again. You just know you’re in for something more than just a mere task.

Whatever she wants from you, you’ll give it – willingly, completely, without question.

[eternalchaoschocolaterain]

The Most Powerful Waitress

Chapter four

Chapter one: School's out

Chapter two: I'd hire me

Chapter three: No cure for me

Chapter five: Patience

Chapter six: I don't know

Chapter seven (final chapter): No one knows

Rinse and repeat

It hadn’t taken Merula long to find a new job. The accidental magic reversal squad was desperate for new recruits, which should have been her first sign to run. Even if she’d only worked there for a few hours, it had been a nightmare. Cleaning up after people who did stupid things was not the job for her. She should’ve known, instead of getting sacked for the second time. What a start to her career.

She paced around her house, unable to sit down. What the fuck was she supposed to do now? Every other job sounded more boring than the next, but without a job she couldn’t build experience, couldn’t show people her capabilities. What other jobs were out there that she hadn't thought of yet? She paused. What other jobs <i>were</i> out there? She went into the library, there had to be something here that could help her. Her library had never let her down before.

The library was her favourite room. Despite its size it still managed to feel cozy, with the fireplace casting a red glow on everything and the smell of books. Three of the walls were lined with blue bookshelves and the other had a large fireplace with the best sofa she ever sat in. The thing was light blue, soft, large and square, making it so she had room to stretch out any way she liked. There were pillows in all shapes and sizes, so she could be comfortable in any position. She pulled out some books for inspiration and stretched out.

Accountant? Yeah never. Pouring over numbers all day sounded dreadful. What could be worse than filling other people’s taxes? She’d rather go back to the reversal squad. Architect? She had never been interested in buildings, but having her name on one did sound good. As she progressed through the books, she noted the jobs that did sound interesting: auror, duelling champion, potioneer, researcher at the department of mysteries. Maybe even curse-breaker after all. Or maybe even a desk job. Surely there had to be paperwork that mattered?

‘Ru, you’re not going to believe this.’

Merula sat up when she heard Quinn, who had been out all day. She’d met up with Haywood in Diagon Alley, so Merula expected to hear all kinds of gossip when she got back. But Quinn’s face was a mixture of emotions she didn’t expect to see if this was solely about gossip. She rearranged her books and notes, allowing Quinn room to sit next to her.

‘What?’

‘I found a place, or Pen did. She asked me if I had a house yet and when she heard I didn’t, she came with this one.’

Her eyes widened. Even though she didn’t know what to guess, this hadn’t crossed her mind. She scrambled for a response, but all that came out was, ‘Oh’.

‘I mean it’s perfect.’ Quinn’s eyes gleamed as she spoke.

Normally Merula would’ve found this sweet, but right now it was all she could do not to snap. But she didn’t, because after all, not moving in together yet had been her idea.

‘It’s this little studio in a side street of Diagon Alley, I’ll be in the middle of everything! And it’s quite cheap because it’s so small. But I still can’t afford it right now, I only had enough for the deposit. I tried to tell Pen that I still don’t know when I’ll start working, but you know how she is. She paid the first month rent and insists she will pay more until I can pay her back. She’s going to help me move in tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?!’

‘Yes and Andre is coming too, we bumped into him running an errand. He wants to get me curtains and needs to measure the windows. And-’

‘Wait, let me guess, house warming party on Saturday?’ Merula couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. This went waaay to fast. She’d never expected Quinn to find a house the first day she went back to real life. In her mind Quinn would’ve taken a few weeks at least to find something. She crossed her arms in a huff. ‘You could’ve just left if you wanted to get away from me so bad.’

‘What are you getting at? Not moving in yet was your idea. You said you needed your space.’

‘I’m not making you move out right now! You can take months, I don’t care.’

She wouldn’t have minded. This whole vacation had gone better than she could’ve imagined. She’d worried Quinn would’ve wanted to spend every second together, which she did, but she hadn’t complained once about Merula’s need for time alone. Which to Merula’s surprise she hadn’t needed as much of as she thought. Reading together in silence worked as well as reading alone. They had a few arguments, mostly in the morning, but nothing serious.

Mornings turned out to be much better together. Waking up with cuddles and having nice breakfasts made for a great start of the day. Being together had been the best anyway. This whole time they’d been able to cuddle, kiss and everything else whenever they wanted. No one to look out for or having to be worried about being interrupted. They’d have to schedule time for that now, starting tomorrow apparently!

‘You’re just in a hurry to leave me!’

‘I’m not! I would stay if you asked.’

‘I’m not going to beg you to stay. I don’t need you.’ Merula spat. ‘Just go and have fun with your friends.’

‘Fine.’ Quinn’s voice had gotten soft and low and Merula knew she hurt her. But at the moment she didn’t care. She wasn’t the one that had decided to leave! ‘I guess I’ll go tell Pen that we can have the housewarming this weekend.’ Quinn got up and sped out of the library.

Of course something like this would happen. She should have known, nothing good ever lasted. Let Quinn tell Haywood to have that stupid party, but they better not invite her!

Wait.

She got up and hurried to her bedroom. Quinn’s trunk laid open on the bed and Quinn stood next to it, gesturing at the large wardrobe. Clothes flew out, folding themselves on top of each other. She raised her eyebrow at Merula for a moment, but kept her focus on her clothes. Merula leaned against the doorpost and watched her. Despite her conflicting emotions, she couldn’t help but marvel at Quinn’s seemingly effortless use of both wandless and non-verbal magic. She’d taught her well.

‘There's no housewarming party this weekend?’

‘Give me a moment and there will be.’

‘I thought you’d have one.’

‘I will, but I wanted to do it next weekend. I wanted to spent time with you, but I guess you did get tired of me.’ She kept gesturing at her clothes.

‘I didn’t.’ Quinn gave her an expectant look and Merula sighed. ‘I want to spent time with you too.’

She finally stopped moving her clothes. ‘You know, this is fast for me too. But I’m not passing up on a perfect studio just because it’s fast. Besides Penny wouldn’t let me anyway.’ Quinn smirked a little and Merula rolled her eyes.

‘Typical Haywood.’ They were both silent for a few moments. ‘So, uh, you still want to come over?’

‘Yes!’ Quinn came over and hugged her tight. ‘I love spending time with you.’

‘Good.’ Merula hugged her back. It would take time to get used to this new reality. Outside of the summer vacations they’d seen each other every day for the past seven years. Every day! Now they would have to plan. She nuzzled Quinn’s neck, comforted by her familiar forestry smell, with hints of juniper and pine. It would be fine, things would be fine. They could plan. It wouldn’t change things, wouldn’t change them.

Quinn kissed the side of her face. ‘So, how was your day?’

‘It sucked. I need a new job.’

‘What went wrong with this one?’

‘People are dumb, that’s what went wrong.’ Her frustrations about the day resurfaced with a force and she let go of Quinn so she could fall backwards on her bed. ‘The reversal squad is all about cleaning up after dumb people doing dumb things and having to pretend it’s fine. It’s just a mistake. This can happen to anyone.’ Merula buried herself deeper into her bed with a groan. ‘I tried to be nice about it, but then we answered this call about a young man getting himself splinched.’

Of course it had to be Barnaby. He had been trying to get his apparition license. All he had left to do was to apparate from a field near the Forbidden Forest to the other side of Hogsmeade. Something he should have been capable of, but he failed because he saw a hippogriff flying over the forest. ‘A really pretty one!’ According to him. That unbelievable oaf got himself splinched over a hippogriff and ruined his exam. She hadn’t minced words when she saw him, because he should have done better. But her supervisor and Barnaby had for some reason decided she was rude and insulting, like it was her fault Barnaby had been as stupid as he had! But since she was so ‘difficult and rude’ she couldn’t be worked with and had to leave. Well, it wasn’t like she had enjoyed any second of that job, so good riddance to them!

‘Is Barnaby okay?’ Quinn asked when she finished. She had joined Merula on the bed, sitting cross-legged against the headboard.

‘Of course he is. They found his ear and toes and reattached them. He’s fine.’

‘Oh, good!’

They were silent for a moment and Merula decided to summon her notes. ‘I was actually doing research when you came in.’

Quinn looked them over. ‘Are you going to try any of these jobs?’

‘Of course, I’m not giving up. It’s just, I don’t know which one yet. I mean, I know I want something exciting. Can you imagine anything worse than being stuck with a boring job? These jobs sounded okay to me, but I don’t know. What do you think?’

‘I think you might make a great duellist. You’re fast, very brave and you pick up new things in a flash.’

‘I do like a good battle.’

A ticking noise sounded from the window before either of them could say something else. A long-eared owl perched on the window sill and continued tapping until Quinn opened the window. At the same time, Merula summoned the bowl of snacks she had for the owls that delivered the paper and brought it over.

‘It’s for me.’ Quinn sounded surprised when she took the letter. ‘And it’s blank.’

‘Let me see.’ Merula turned it around and cast a few spells, but the parchment remained blank. ‘Do you think someone is pranking you?’

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t even have a name- wait, look!’

Words appeared on the backside of the letter.

I can fill up a room and take no space. When I’m gone darkness takes my place.

‘A riddle, and a really easy one too.’ Quinn frowned, took the letter back and cast lumos on the parchment. Next moment dark blue ink appeared on the letter.

Dear Quinn Lee,

Your first day is tomorrow. Report to the ministry at half-past nine o’clock.

‘That’s it?’ She turned the letter around and shone the light there to no avail. ‘I still don’t know anything. Report to the ministry? Do they realise how big- Fuck!’ The letter went up in flames and Quinn flapped her hands around.

‘Come sit.’ Merula gestured at the bed and went to get burn-healing paste. She massaged Quinn’s hands when she applied it.

‘Thanks.’

‘So, tomorrow.’

‘Apparently, except I still don’t know where to go, or who to meet, or what I’ll be doing.’ Quinn pursed her lips. Then she perked up. ‘I’m going to make us a nice dinner.’

She got up so fast that her circle skirt twirled around her legs. Merula let her go and waited a bit before following her into the kitchen, giving Quinn a moment to gather herself and push any sort of anger or frustration down. Not that Merula would mind seeing Quinn like that. If you asked her, anger was a perfectly healthy outlet for frustration or just about any other feeling. Sometimes the world deserved to be set on fire. For some reason though, Quinn didn’t like being angry, especially not about things she couldn’t change. Or thought she couldn’t change, like this job. From what Quinn told her Moody and Dumbledore had arranged this job for her, expecting her to be grateful about it. Even though they never asked for her opinion. Merula couldn’t understand why Quinn worried more about disappointing them than having a job she wanted, but she thought getting angry was useless and she’d rather be happy. Whatever worked for her.

When she thought enough time had passed, she went to the kitchen. It had pink quartz countertops atop white cabinets running along two walls and a white sink underneath the window overlooking the garden. The table in the middle and its chairs matched the colour scheme, as did the stove that was built into the other wall. Her dad had done the kitchen and while Merula liked pink, this was too much. She’d thought about changing it numerous times and told herself to just take some time to at least try out some new colours, but for some reason she never did.

Quinn stood by the window, kneading some dough with such force that her ponytail swung from side to side. The muscles in her arms tensed as she pressed into the dough and folded it over and over. Merula walked over and put her arm around Quinn’s waist.

‘Fresh pasta?’

Quinn hummed an agreement.

‘Hey,’ Merula gently bumped her hip, ‘you’ll do fine tomorrow. You are the second most powerful witch, they are the ones who should feel honoured to get to work with you, not the other way around.’

‘I just wish I knew more about it. I don’t know what am I going to do, or where. I mean, do they even want me or did they get as much choice as I did?’

Ah, so that was her real issue. She should’ve known. ‘Oh please, everyone always loves you, where-ever you go. They might not know it yet, but they’re going to love you. It’s one of those annoying things about you.’

The corners of Quinn’s lips turned up a little. ‘You think so?’

‘No, I know so.’

‘Thanks.’

Quinn turned and gave her a quick kiss, which reminded Merula.

‘You forgot to greet me with a kiss today.’

A mischievous smile spread on Quinn’s face. ‘I did, didn’t I? I was hoping you forgot about it.’

‘Cheeky. I’ll keep that in mind when I think about a way you can make it up to me.’ She gave her another kiss before letting go to sit at the table.

Quinn resumed working on her dough. ‘What are you going to do tomorrow?’

‘Find a new job.’

If only this one would stick. For the first time she felt a little uncertain. This was supposed to be the easy part, but it didn’t feel easy right now. She pushed the feeling down, she was a Snyde. Snydes always bounced back. So what if she had a little trouble, nothing was too big for her. She could do this. Maybe she’d try the dreaded desk job. As long as they didn’t make her clean up other people’s messes it couldn’t be as bad as the reversal squad. Might as well try something new, until she figured out what she wanted. She could start at the ministry, plenty of desk jobs there. Knowing herself it would be mere hours before she had a new job, she could be quite convincing if she wanted to. It would be fine.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

❤ Yandere Firefighter ❤

Credit for the amazing pictures goes to: @d-lioncourt (thank you so much for doing them)

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Manipulation; Memory Loss.

Special credit to @deceitfuldevout cause she's the one that came up with the idea, thank you!

--

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who jumps right into rescue when your building has a major fire on a Saturday night.

He doesn’t even hesitate before jumping into action, running inside the apartment complex, ready to save everyone. Control the damage. Be a hero. Save lives.

It’s his job, after all, right?

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who ends up saving what might be the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life - yes, you.

Your hair is ruffled and your face is tinged with tears and black smoke, but his heart stops positively for a moment when his eyes land on you.

You’re passed out on the floor and for a moment, all of his world stopped and everything made sense. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who doesn’t understand what’s happening. Never had he been one to believe in love at first sight, not him.

He was the one that steered far away from cheesy foolish things such as commitment and marriage - casual hookups were more his style. 

But meeting you changed things. He experienced what he never thought would happen to him. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter that fights tooth and nail to be by your side when the paramedics step in to take care of you. You’re passed out, having inhaled too much smoke but they assure him that you’ll be fine. 

But still he doesn’t relax, unable to take his eyes off you. You look peaceful while sleeping, a comforting aura around you as you travel in the realm of dreams. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who comes to visit you at the hospital, claiming the plastic chair next to your bed as he waits for you to regain consciousness.

When the nurses ask him who he is, he shrugs off his shoulder, muttering something unsure and shaky that sounds a lot like ‘boy friend’.

Doctors say that might take a day or two, that you probably gained a concussion from when you passed out and hit your head on the floor. In the meanwhile he does some research, he’s got some connections in the local PD and uses it to do some much-needed research on you.

You’re originally from another country, recently having emigrated for work. You’ve got no family alive. Not much of a record in the police files. You’re low-profile, having a small job as a waitress in a restaurant near your apartment. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter whose mind drifts to the worst scenarios as he impatiently waits for you to finally wake up. How will you react to seeing him?

Will you feel the same ardent and powerful emotion that has him completely enamored to you? Will you accept him or his feelings?

His insides are dancing with anxiety and apprehension at what will happen next and he crosses his fingers in a silent prayer for you to love him back. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who is borderline starstruck when you groggily start opening your eyes, feeling himself falling in love with you all over again. 

He calls the doctors and then panic is installed in the room.

You can’t seem to remember who you are, what your name is. Nothing at all. Doctors try to comfort you, explaining it’s normal.

You just suffered a concussion. It happens. Your memory will come back one day - tomorrow or in two decades, the doctors aren’t sure of that. 

And then, you look at him for the first time, acknowledging his presence. Butterflies erupt wildly in his belly as you give him your attention, confusedly looking at him. 

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he still does. The answer is unconsciously on the tip of his tongue, just ready to be spilled as you question who he is. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who shamelessly lies about being your boyfriend, the answer coming firm and steady.

He feels guilty for doing this, but isn’t this a great chance? It’s destiny, telling him that maybe he doesn’t need to spend months - or even years - courting you. 

So he takes the chance, creating a beautiful love story where you’re dating him. That you’re practically engaged.  

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who tells himself that this isn’t lying. It’s just…forcing the circumstances a bit. All the indecision and fear is resolved when you accept his answer, not throwing a thousand questions his way - questions he doesn’t have answers to.

No, you’re calm, almost passive about it. You don’t cry in frustration of losing all your memories, accepting the short answers he gives to appease you, making up some of them.

He sighs in relief at how docile and sweet you are. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who kisses your knuckles, promising that you and him - together - will make new memories. The ones that will last for the rest of your life.

Promises to keep you safe and sound. To marry you. To love you. To cherish you. To treat you like the precious diamond you are. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who finally takes you to his apartment - your new home.

He doesn’t lie about what happened, saying that you were almost at the point of moving in together when your apartment burned.

Hence why your clothes aren’t in the wardrobe, but promises you can use his until he takes you shopping. 

Immediately falls in love with how cute you look with his oversized hoodie on, despite the slight uncomfortable expression on your face. Almost makes him want to keep you forever in his clothes. 

◾ Yandere!Firefighter who induces you into taking upon the domestic chores. Keeping your mind and body busy - hopefully that’ll help keeping old memories away. Memories where he doesn’t exist.

He never thought he’d be one to enjoy coming home to a freshly cleaned apartment, a meal ready to be served and a pretty girl waiting for his arrival but he loves it. 

He kisses you softly every time he arrives from work, making sure he doesn’t smell like smoke - doesn’t want the smell to trigger something in you - hugging you tightly before you pull away. 

You’re always reluctant when it comes to PDA, as if your subconscious knows there’s something wrong even if you don’t voice those thoughts.

But with time, he hopes to convince you to do more than just a few rushed shallow kisses and awkward cuddles where you pull away after five seconds. He says it’s okay, being understanding of your reactions but the fact is that he’s aching for you.

He wants you so bad that he has to rub one off every night, hidden in the bathroom cause sleeping in the same bed as you is so fucking tempting. 

Maybe once you’re finally married, he can convince you to accept him - all of him. Soon enough, he’s on one knee, presenting you a ring that he immediately slides on even if you didn’t answer. 

You’re his and that’s all that matters.

[kurokawaia]

❛ RUN, BABY. RUN ❜

Yandere! Sanzu Haruchiyo X Fem!Reader

WC; 3k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: OVERALL WARNINGS Yandere themes dark content, inexperienced!reader, timid!shy!reader, pet names 'baby' 'doll' + more, drugs (sanzu's part), alcohol, clubs, age gap -> reader is implied to be around 20-22, reader is described to be shorter than Sanzu, smut, nsfw, piv, no protection, begging, rough sex? missionary, oral -> female receiving, male receiving, doggy, marking, possessive, possession, restriction, kidnapping?, biting? eventual predator play, based on the song runrunrun by dutch melrose + more

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮𝐼𝒮 :: meeting Sanzu in that club and accepting that one offer to dance with him, that was when you should've said no, then maybe, you wouldn't be in this situation you are in now.

m.list | tokyo revengers m.list - PART 1 / PART 2

You knew it was a lousy idea going out in a group of three-well, it would have been four if one of your best friends hadn't pulled out last minute. Of course, you knew her reasoning, though-being a mother was hard, and sometimes men just don't cut it to look after children all by themselves. There are two main problems. 

The three of you was one, whereby if one wanted to go to the bathroom, someone had to accompany the other, leaving one person behind to look after the drinks. That wasn't much of a problem. It was this club that was the problem. One of the high-class clubs in Tokyo. Still in shock how your friend had gotten in this club in the first place. You were surrounded by strangers, awaiting the return of your two friends from the toilet. As much as you hated to say it, you did feel frightened, the men in the club were so intimidating, they were considerably older than you, really old, more than likely there for the female strippers and waitress. Not to mention, of course. the group of men on the second level, overlooking everyone at the club. Counting them, you count eight; even from down below at the bar, you could tell just by those suits that they were probably the most powerful people here. You turned your back to the scene of people, swiveling in your chair to face the bar, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as your eyes warily watched the drinks to make sure no one put anything in them. Absent-mindedly, you swirled the drink in your hand, you hadn't had one sip, and you really didn't want to-you were too worried something might happen if you were to take a sip of the alcohol. You didn't know that this is a club owned by none other than Bonten, Japan's most feared criminal organization. More specifically, you caught the eye of one of their most dangerous members, number two, Sanzu Haruchiyo. Sanzu had moved off the red velvet couch, now leaning across the glass railing, a joint sitting in between his lips, looking down at you. Of course, you had caught his, no one dares to look up toward where the members of Bonten are. Also, he wanted to distance himself from Ran, who was on the verge of borderline fucking one of the waitresses. His eyes glint dangerously in the low light of the club, already plotting a next move as he watches you sit there, all alone, your gaze darting anxiously around. A wicked curve of his lips greets this view. "You're staring too hard, Sanzu," Ran Haitani teases, lips pulling away from the blonde he was making out with. Rindou snickers, taking a sip from his drink. "Think she's gonna run if she notices you?"

Kokonoi let a laugh fall out his lips, his head tilted to the side, and he placed his ankle over his other knee. "Agreed, Rindou." Sanzu barely spares them a glance, eyes never leaving you. "She's not going anywhere," he mutters. "She's mine." Ran, Rindou and Kokonoi share a knowing look between them. They have, after all, seen Sanzu take an interest in people like this before. but something feels off tonight. They can feel it in the way Sanzu's acting. And before they could utter another word, Sanzu pushed off the railing and strolled down the stairs from their longue. The crowd didn't part for him, rather, they knew that if they were in his way, they would die. Right there and then. And so the people made sure to move whenever he was close. You feel someone approach, glance up, and your heart skips a beat as your eyes meet his. Much taller than you had guessed, pink hair tousled in a messy manner, and a scar cutting across his lips-he looks so familiar, yet you can't seem to recall where you've seen him. His gaze pins you in place, hypnotizing blue eyes amidst his scars-he was beautiful, if anything, they added to his beauty. "You're sitting here all alone?" His voice is smooth that runs a shiver down your spine. He leans in closer, his breath ghosting against your ear as he adds, "That's a little dangerous, don't you think?" You swallow hard, unsure if intimidated is the feeling you're supposed to have. "My friends... they went to the bathroom," you manage to get out, your voice little more than a whisper over the music. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Lucky for you, I'm here now." Sanzu's lips pull into a slow smirk. His eyes flick to the empty seats around you before landing back onto you. "And you think they'll be back for you soon?" You hesitate, taken aback by his question. He sounds playful, but there's something... 

"I.. I'm sure they'll be back any minute." "Mm," he hums, straightening slightly. His hand reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers linger for just a moment too long. "It's funny how people tend to disappear in places like this, isn't it?" You feel a tiny tremor of fear quiver through you, but it's drowned out by the way his fingers trail down the side of your neck, featherlight. Your skin tingles under his touch. His smile widens to see the hitch in your breath. 

"Relax," he whispers, though the way he spoke does little to settle your nervousness. "I'm not here to scare you." He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing only slightly, scanning your face. "I'm here to keep you company. Seems like you could use some, don't you think?"

Your heart pounds in your chest, and the look he's giving you -a predator with a mouse- makes it hard to think of anything but him. "I... I'm fine," you say, though it comes out far more uncertain than you hoped. "Really." "Fine?" He chuckles low. "Sitting all alone in a place like this, surrounded by strangers?" He leans in closer again, his lips brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks, his voice drops to an almost seductive whisper. "Seems like you're anything but fine." His proximity sends your mind reeling. His hand is warm, laid lightly on your knee under the table. You can hardly breathe, let alone find words with which to reply. "Lucky for you, I'm here," he adds, his voice teasing. His hand slides up your leg a little movement, tiny enough to catch your breath. You watch him, not knowing what to say, but before words can leave your lips, his other hand delicately tugs on your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. 

"You don't seem like the type to be left behind. So, either your friends don't know what they've got." His thumb brushes your lower lip, lingering as his eyes turn dark. "Or maybe they're not coming back at all."

His thumb brushes your lower lip, and your breath catches as his eyes darken, sending the fire of heat coursing through you. You say nothing, not because you don't want to, but under the piercing weight of his gaze, the words die in your throat. There's just something in the way he looks at you... Sanzu's smile deepens at the silence. 

Not breaking his stare, he rises from his seat, his hand still clasping your chin lightly before his fingers trail down to take your hand. The touch is warm. He draws you slowly, deliberately to your feet. Nearly sated, you move instinctively as he guides you toward the dance floor. He doesn't stop until you're deep in the crowd. As soon as you are in the middle of the floor, he turns you around and moves your back flush against his chest. His arms slide around your waist, and instantly, your breath catches in your throat. You feel the heat of his body seep into yours as the crowd around you feels like a blur. Sanzu's head dips down as the warmth of his breath dances across the back of your neck, his lips close to your skin. "See?" he whispers, barely audible amongst the music. "Much better than sitting alone." Sanzu's hold on you tightens, his body pressing harder against yours, guiding your movements. His hands slide down your sides, lingering at your hips before pulling you even closer. You can feel the hard lines of his chest against your back, the heat in his breath as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You like this, don't you?" he says low, dripping with seduction. "The attention. The way I'm touching you."

Sanzu's hand leaves your waist, quickly moving into the small pocket on his purple waistcoat, pulling out a red and white pill before quickly putting it into his mouth, and swallowing the drug. You saw, you noticed, but you didn't say anything, you just thought it was an ibuprofen. 

Sanzu could've collapsed in pleasure right there and then. He might just go crazy over the euphoric feeling. And he knows that once he has you underneath him, that feeling will only grow stronger. 

You looked so gorgeous in front of him, your back pressed flush against his chest, the way your body fit so so so perfectly against his own. You are so perfect, so innocent, something he wants to taint, he wants to break you. He wants to put you on a level to which you wouldn't be able to live without him, so that you would have to rely on him for every minuscule task in your life. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your skin abraded where his hands roam. Yet with the growing heat of the two bodies, your mind is unable to think straight. You shouldn't want this, not from a stranger, not in a place like this. Yet there is something about the way his body fits up against yours, something so headily dangerous, so alluring about him that makes rational thought impossible. His fingers dig into your hips, pressing closer until your back arches a little. Every shift of your body against his feels deliberate, teasing, as if he's testing just how far you're willing to go. His lips now graze the side of your neck, barely touching but enough to send a shockwave of desire through you. "Tell me," he whispers, his lips lightly grazing your skin. "Do you want me to stop?" Your lips part, but the words won't come out. You can't deny what your body does when he does this to you when a single touch from his fingers sets off a firework of nerves. His waistline cinches tighter against your body, and you feel him smile against your neck. "I'll take that as a no," he murmurs, the humour dripping like honey from his voice. His hands slip lower, barely, but the fingers stroke the hem of your dress in passing, spiking your pulse. All that matters is the press of his body against yours, the hands claiming you. "Come home with me," he repeats, his hot words against making butterflies swell up in your body. His hands trace slow, burning paths down your sides, his touch firing something deep inside. Your mind is racing, and your heart is pounding in your chest. You turn your head slightly, catching his gaze from the corner of your eye, his blue eyes, eyes whose pupils were so dilated, as if he was going into a frenzy. What was that pill he took? "Okay," you whisper, barely audible, but it's enough. "But..."

"Mmmm, Doll?" he questions, hands tightening on your body. 

"What was the pill you took? You are okay? R-Right?" you ask timidly.

Sanzu lowers his head closer to your neck, arms wrapping around your front like he is hugging you. "It was nothing, Baby," he reassured, arms tightening but it wasn't painful, in fact, it was quite relaxing and it felt... nice. "Promise you I'm alllllll good, I ain't crazy, baby."

If only you knew how much of a crazy and sadistic bastard he was before you said yes to going home with him. 

"You're... sure?" you ask softly.

"Of course, Doll."

You chew on your bottom lip. "Then... It won't be a problem."

Sanzu smirks, his hand coming up to your jaw, tilting your head back so you're looking up at him. "Good girl," he murmurs in a low tone, his pet name making your throat go dry, you hadn't ever been called... that before. His thumb runs across your bottom lip again before he leans down, his lips brushing against yours, teasingly close but not quite giving in. He pulls you from the dance floor in dead silence, the firm wrap of his hand around yours. There is no asking for permission. There is simply no need to. 

You are his now. 

And there's no going back.

You won't escape him now, you had a chance to say no, for him to leave you alone, but your naive self said yes.

How stupid you were.

As Sanzu guides you out of the club, you don't see it but Sanzu did, the way that his elder brother and the Haitani twins look down at him as he escorted you out of the club. Takeomi's facial expression... he didn't know how to deal with his younger brother, Haruchiyo was an adult so he could do as he pleases, but what he does with drugs and women... He just didn't know how to stop it.

You shivered slightly in the cold air the moment you stepped outside, your arms moving to cross themselves, your hands rubbing your upper arms, wanting to relieve the ice-like air, to soothe the goosebumps that rose over your skin. Almost a second later, you felt a soft, satin-like garment dropping over your shoulders. 

Looking up to your side, you see that Sanzu has placed his suit jacket over you, for the obvious, to keep you warm. Your cheeks flush pink as your eyes meet with his. "Thank you," you say timidly and a ghost of a kiss is what he places on the side of your head.

"No need to thank me, doll," he murmurs agasint your hair as he guides you to the parking lot.

A sleek black car parked in front of you and you knew that it was an expensive, really low-slung sports car, a black one with dark red accents. Your eyes widen when you see the brand, pointing to the emblem. "I know that one! Ferrari!" you say with a smile, looking up to Sanzu.

(that's just what I would do in that situation bc my ass is childish asf)

"Close, baby," Sanzu hums, a chuckle reverberating in his chest. You are cute, so so so cute, he can't wait to mend you in his own little toy. "It's Bugatti."

"Oh," you reply shortly, a pout on your lips.

You were so cute that he could almost kill you.

Almost.  He walks you toward the car, his hand never leaving yours. He lets go only to open the passenger door for you; his eyes flick up to meet yours as he does. There's a subtle shift in his expression, but you don't know what it is. 

You do know, however, that you were too curious to stay away.  "Get in," he says quietly, squeezing your waist underneath his jacket to which your hands were holding onto. You pause for a moment, then slide into the plush leather seat. Sleek inside as out, black leather, polished chrome, a scent of cologne, his cologne. Everything about his car screamed rich, and his suit, and his cologne. Everything. You wondered how someone as rich as him... how he managed to be captivated by innocent, timid you.

Sanzu closes the door for you, watching you trail your hands over the sides of the seat curiously and in awe. He circles the car and slips into the driver's seat. He says nothing and merely starts the engine, a growl reverberating throughout the vehicle, the vibrations shaking through you. You gaze out at the street as you pull out onto it, your eyes straying to Sanzu's hands easily on the steering wheel. It isn't until you glance down, though, that you catch something, the clench on the clutch is just a fraction too tight, his knuckles white against it. 

You wondered why he was doing so.

Why Sanzu was doing so? he is restraining himself from taking you right there and then, forcing himself to pay attention to the road and not how much of your thighs are exposed from your short dress. Every so often, you glance over at the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips press into a thin line as he shifts gears. He was so beautiful. Your eyes widened when you realised something, you didn't even know his name. "I'm so sorry, but I don't even know your name."

"Sanzu Haruchiyo, Doll," he replies, your gaze flickers down to the clutch, noticing the grip loosening before tightening.

"Sanzu... Haruchiyo.... Ooo, Haru." you reply, testing the name out of your tongue, adding the nickname at the end unintentionally.

You missed the way Sanzu's tongue rolled over his teeth in his mouth, how the bob of his Adam's apple was so evident. His grip becomes tighter on the wheel and on the clutch, as he changes gears once more. The way you said his name made him crazy, and the cutesy nickname you added wasn't making it any better. 

The longer you sit in the car, the longer you feel a pull, a connection between the two of you as he drives through the city. Before you knew it, he pulls up in front of a building that screamed luxury.

Sanzu parks the car and gets out wordlessly, walking around to open the door for him once again. His hand extends to you, and you take it, stepping out and looking up in awe at the towering penthouse above.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | tokyo revengers m.list

HONEY'S NOTE :: if this flops im going to neck

[organicxslime]

☆how they bagged you (gojo, geto, nanami, toji)☆

「GOJO」 wriggled his way into your heart with the power of sweets. He figured out pretty early on that you had a sweet tooth as rotten as he did, so he used it to his advantage, inviting you to try out new cafes and bakeries that cropped up in cities where he was going on missions. Each time you'd accompany him to one of these establishments, he'd promptly show off, flashing a platinum bank card that sounded an expensive, metallic clang as he tossed it on the counter, buying quite literally every single dessert you had your eye on with no regard for the cost. He's fairly certain he accidentally spent $400 in a single bakery once. He finally bagged you by taking you to an upscale cafe and having the waitress bring out the fluffiest, most intricately decorated cake they could possibly produce, looping cursive on the top spelling out “will you be my girlfriend?"

(In all honesty, you don't have enough room in your stomach for the sheer amount of sweets that he buys you, but his students certainly enjoy it when you slip them whatever mountain of dessert you have left over.)

「GETO」 gently coaxes you into loving him with his sweet, quiet voice and honeyed words. He noticed within a few weeks of meeting you that you seemed to stand at rapt attention whenever he spoke, and it didn’t take a genius to know that you liked his voice. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced something like this - there had been others before who complimented his voice, saying he had a soft, kind tone that was pleasant to listen to - and he knew he could use it to his advantage. He intentionally makes himself sound quieter and more agreeable when he speaks to you, lovingly praising you and complimenting you for the smallest of things. you can’t help but swoon each time he greets you in that lyrical tone, and when he finally asks you on a date , you melt at how hopeful and sweet his voice sounds.

(later, when that same voice is murmuring filthy things into your ear, you’ll be silently reaffirming to yourself that he was absolutely the right choice.)

「NANAMI」 won you over by being the perfect gentleman. He's not one for dirty tricks or flashy displays of affection - he finds these things repulsive. No, he's going to take a much more classic route with it. It starts with little things - a shared smile here and there, complimenting you often, and making sure to stop by and greet vou everv morning at work. From there, he'll graduate to more direct methods, like inviting you to dinner and remembering your exact coffee order to surprise vou with the next morning. As your bond grows, so do his advances, and he finds himself arriving to work an hour early to slip sweet hand-written notes into our desk. Eventually he surprises you with a bouquet of red roses, chastely asking you out on a date, and you're so smitten you can't imagine a world where you would say no.

(You like his methods, but in all fairness he could have taken you on a date to a 7/11 and you still would've been drooling over him afterwards. For the sake of your standards, though, the romantic gestures were entirely necessary.)

「TOJI」 snaked his way into your heart by shamelessly using his body. You were gym buddies, and he had noticed before how your eyes lingered on his body, watching beads of sweat roll off of his glistening pecs and paying particularly close attention to the way his back flexed when he would lift. He began teasing you, making you sit on his toned back as he did pushups, giving you a front row seat to every contraction of his rolling muscles. He'd have you help him tape up for support, too - smoothing the athletic tape over his thick legs and reaching around his basketball-sized biceps to bind up his elbows drove you absolutely wild. At one point, you're pressing his feet to the floor while he does sit-ups, and all of a sudden he leans up further than ever before, leaning into your face and catching you by the lips. Amused, you ask him what that was for, and he says he'll explain himself - but only if you'll let him take you out to dinner.

(You knew damn well what he was up to - but you're just as depraved as he is, and knew a solid opportunity to feel up on a buff man when you saw it. You're so down bad you didn't even care that he asked you to pay for dinner.)

[whispersleo]

MY TASTE IN MEN

This was supposed to be a warm-up meme sketch, but I started writing the comparisons seriously, so here’s the post...

Astarion and Illario

They become "villains"/bad guys as a response to trauma.

They use their beauty and body to deceive and objectify themselves to get what they believe they want.

They have suffered physical, verbal, and emotional abuse that would break anyone.

They don't want to see themselves as victims, nor show—they hate feeling—weakness. They want to be stronger and crave power at any cost.

They display superiority toward others when their entire lives they have been beneath or in someone's shadow.

They have become so accustomed to lying and manipulating that I doubt they even know their true selves.

They approach someone who welcomes them with open arms, all the while thinking about how to use that person.

They fall to pieces if you show them genuine affection and love, what it’s truly meant to be.

They would kill for you.

They are my wet rats; they have no body hair.

I think, after all, they do enjoy sex—it probably involves unconventional things.

What they want and what they need are VERY different things.

I can fix them.

They have a strange relationship with blood.

They would betray you if it meant saving their own lives.

Showing vulnerability is the last thing they want, and strangely, it's what would save both of them from becoming monsters.

I have a weakness for men who try to kill me. You're screaming for me to fix you babe.

This could end very badly or very well.

They are charming and it is easy to fall for their lies instead of seeing beyond that mask.

People see them as "dumb" when they are tremendously intelligent. They may not be textbook smart, but they know how to read people, ask the right questions at the right time, they wait for the opportunity and always analyze the situations they find themselves in. People call them "dumb" because it's easier to accept it instead of the complex idea that a character can be smart but a moron at the same time.

They won't be jerks to you, but they'll probably treat the waitress on the date poorly if she fucks up something.

They are the kind of person who is worth being romantically with, but to get there you have to take off their mask and that in itself is a great effort.

They definitely want to be someone's first choice, for once in their lives.

Deep down, all they want is adoration, love and respect.

I want to hold them and tell them that they deserve to be loved without any ties or conditions to that love.

Gale, Emmrich and Lucanis

They are sweet by nature, kind souls despite all the pain they've been through.

Showing kindness is what makes them strong.

Once they fall in love with you, they are lost.

They have enormous insecurities.

They feel the weight of the world on their shoulders all the time.

Great facial and body hair.

They have a strange relationship with death.

They have a huge heart that yearns to love.

I would feel very proud to introduce them as my partner. Like yes this good man loves me, isn't that amazing?

They have self-destructive tendencies.

It makes me blush to hear them laugh because it’s the most precious sound in the world.

I would feel safe with them around.

They would die for you.

Gale and Emmrich

They are professors, and I DEFINITELY don't feel an incredible attraction toward men who can teach me interesting and unknown subjects in depth (of course, that DOESN'T turn me on).

They are the smartest and kindest in this room.

They love to show and share their studies and knowledge with anyone willing to listen.

They are patient.

They know how to listen.

They offer their opinion when you clearly didn't ask for it.

Too many times they want to help or give advice without being asked.

They've had many partners, but they love you a lot, and that willingness to learn how to love again is one of their most beautiful qualities.

In some strange way, they know how to fight when I think they're meant to be treated with care and delicacy or they'll break (just kidding).

Oh, and by the way, both of them are mages—guess it's sexy that you can do a bunch of magical things...

They are nerds even when it comes to sex and I love that. Of course I don't know anything about anatomy, do you want to explain that to me, professor?

Astarion, Illario and Lucanis

They have killed more people than I should feel comfortable with.

"The hands that cradled your face and tilted it upwards to kiss your forehead are soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood." But they cradled me, yes?

They are trained assassins, and that raises some questions about my own morals.

Why do we kill?

What does it feel like to take a life?

What does it feel like to hold the weapon with which you snatch away the last moments of someone who was as human as you and me, who had desires, fears, aspirations, who didn’t want to die?

What kind of superiority do you think you have to do that and see your target as nothing more than a simple cockroach?

How can you sleep at night?

Do those thoughts torment you, or are your dreams sweet as if you hadn’t done anything wrong?

How do you decide that someone deserves to die, my love?

Would you kill me like you've killed so many if, in some way, you believe I deserve it?

Don’t you think the sins you see in others, in those you kill, are also your own?

I LOVE characters with complex morals, it's so sexy. Yes, baby, kill a few more, let's bathe in the blood of our enemies or anyone who opposes us, let's dance with their corpses, I love you.

I know they are flexible.

Astarion and Emmrich

A date in a cemetery? Sure! Wait, why am I excited to do it on a grave? Ugh, I hope this doesn’t awaken another weird fetish in me...

I can't stop thinking about blood and corpses in a way that's too pleasant.

Their sense of fashion is superior.

They always carry a brush with them, in case they get a little messy in the middle of a fight.

I think both of them can sew pretty well.

They have a strange desire to become some kind of superior being, and that could end very well or very badly.

There’s some strange necromancy here.

They love to read, and that's very cute.

Gale, Illario and Lucanis

Their long hair gives me years of life, I want to run my fingers through it, caress it, comb it, pull it, I love it.

Maybe I like their hair because it's like mine, but either way.

I love drawing them.

Thinking about them makes my brain jump in my skull.

I just want to take away all your pain.

They have been emotionally abused but they cannot recognize themselves as victims, because they feel love for their abuser and the abuser loves them in a horrible way, the way only a mother's love could twist you.

DEFINITELY MOMMY ISSUES.

(This becomes more complex thinking about the relationship between Mystra and Gale / Zara and Illario and Caterina but that needs a whole power point presentation).

Gale and Lucanis

Canonically, they are THE wife material.

They are soft and loving once you’re with them.

They know how to cook and do any domestic task you can think of.

The house/camp is always in perfect condition thanks to them.

They look at you like you are the most precious person in the world.

I want to get them pregnant.

They have the saddest, most puppy-like brown eyes that make you love them instantly.

Their face screams for kisses and affection.

I know that between your arms is the warmest place in the world and that I could fall asleep to the sound of your beautiful heart.

I would distract myself by running my hand through their beards and remove any white hairs I found (without them asking me to).

Lucanis wins points for speaking spanish but Gale also wins points because let's remember that he is a professor.

Astarion, Gale, Illario and Emmrich

Absolutely freaks in bed BUT they can be vanilla if you ask them pretty please.

Lucanis

This man is virgin and demisexual like me so I think I would feel extremely comfortable knowing that there is no pressure to do "it" and that he is a man who values ​​company beyond pleasure, calming one of my biggest insecurities.

Not saying the others here can't value company is just... Yeah just sex isn't for me now. And that has ruined many of my relationships. So it gives me more peace of mind to think that my lover can also be a virgin like me and none of us have that expectation.

I'm not saying that the others here would pressure me to do it either. I don't think any of them would. But I know that they can see it as something important in the relationship and there's nothing wrong with that.

Mph-mph.

Gale

He is MY wife.

I have his name tattooed on my arm like branded cattle and I love it.

I have 500 hours on Baldurs and I always start a game again just to hear him breathe.

His relationship with his ex wouldn't create insecurities in me because I already have them so nothing new.

I fear that this man has taken my expectations to a place that cannot be reached by "real" men and I will die alone bUT happy to have met a fictional character written as beautifully as him.

I want to fall asleep while he reads me a book.

He has a cat that talks and has wings, I love her.

I love men who just can't shut the fuck up.

I'm sure his mom would like me and you have no idea how important that is to me HAHAHA my mother-in-laws (except one) always hated me so I would like to feel welcomed in a home for one damn time.

I love him.

I can always like other characters but none as incredible as you, Gale.

[eternalchaoschocolaterain]

Right?! It's my fave too 😁 she's hilarious

It’s amusing to me too aberforth

Seeing merula be bad at her jobs is one of my fav parts of beyond

[kiwanopie]

A Lucky Find.

Pure luck, isn’t it? (Geto Suguru x fem!sorcerer!Reader)

cw: yandere if you squint. mention of misogyny and inappropriate work place relationships, graphic descriptions of curses and body horror, death by mutilation involving a curse (Not you), mention of religion, only specifics about reader is that she’s visibly very attractive and may have long hair (no descriptors though, it could be a lace) Suguru is out of his mind. You will not be called a monkey in this one.

wc: 3.9k

You’re not a very talkative assistant.

Granted sometimes you’re inclined to wonder if talking would’ve made so much of a difference to the position you’ve been put in, but you’ve never been a particularly choosy assistant either. You’re great at handling quick business, the calls your boss can’t be bothered to take - studious in your evening planning and you can quick work a coffee run like nobody's business. — You don’t complain about the thin heels they put you in, or the pencil skirts. Mired businessmen with filthy smirks and wondering eyes, or the routine baby talk you get from your degenerate boss. You don’t blink an eye at it. - You sit when you’re told to sit and bark when Mr. Minoru decides to hold that pretty little bone over your head.

“You could use a bonus, huh?”

Today it’s a back rub.

You’re silent as your nimble fingers start to press little groves in his upper back, impassive when he groans. Mr. Minoru, your boss, is a very rich man. He’s the successor of a retired tycoon who was once the successor of another and so forth. He’s an amalgamation of power and fortune and a small legion of nepotism babies that regularly walk in through those mahogany doors just ahead of his desk. An investor, you think. Most conversations he has are about money and the best way to double it; fewer are the ones where he’s actually taking the time out of his schedule to distribute it.

It’s all elite talk. Big men following big men following a perv who believes he’s god. Long outstretched legs that extend as he relaxes himself in his seat and hopes that the movement is enough to encourage you to start on his shoulders.

You like to think you got this job out of pure luck. Met the right man at the right time and stumbled over the deal of a lifetime all for the small cost of a little bit of your dignity. — Not like it was much of a trade from your part time job busing tables at that high-end restaurant. Being yelled at by bratty celebrities at a fraction of the price and coming home smelling reminiscent of a meat locker. Now you’re standing on the top floor of a penthouse suite. Smelling of expensive perfume that your boss totally didn’t break worker/boss relation code for and looking down at the entirety of Tokyo from its bay windows.

Pure luck.

The creature hooked to the upper side of his shoulder unfastens its teeth with a firm graze of your fingers. The steam it emits as it fizzles away is sour.

Mr. Minoru has a pension for starting fights with the wrong people, it seems. With bitter people - scornful people. People who hate him and can’t do anything about it, other than wish him harm or hex him in some way. — Worst are the people who don’t hate him, who envy him. Step into his office with painted smiles and clenched teeth. Who curse his name the moment they leave and leave you to deal with these little “bugs.”

Your nose twitches as its rotten smell encombers. For a moment your pretty face is twisted up in a scowl.

The massages started from an offhand graze of your fingers during a dinner at your old job. Pretty little waitress bending over him in that little work dress and running your finger down his felted coat. You apologize for your familiarity, someone must’ve spilled something on his jacket. ~ But the weight on his back is gone from just that little touch and now he’s offering you a job. You don’t regularly make a habit of helping those you’ve already deemed “afflicted.” But the fucker making goo trails on his back at the time was just disgusting enough to hinder your train of thought, and there’s no way you could’ve gone through your shift without reviling every time you passed his table.

So, now you’re his assistant - and today it’s just a back rub. Thankfully not a request to play with his hair and try not to cringe at the way he shutters from it. A subtle pat on the cheek for his good luck kiss, or a request to sit on his lap while he tells you a story he doesn’t care if you’re listening to. Because you’re quiet.

His not talkative, non-fussy, no complaints assistant.

Like always he fills the empty air in place of your silence. “Ah. By the way, princess. We’ve got a guest coming around after lunch. A real traditional fella. So, we’ll need to be on our best behavior,”

“Apparently he’s got some sort of business opportunity for me in exchange for a few investments,” He sighs when your fingers dip a little under his collar. “Says that in his big fuckin’ haori. Probably cost a few thousand bucks,”

Mr. Minoru shifts his shoulders under your firm touches. “To be completely honest, I don’t really know about it aside from the gag of seeing him in person again. Guy has this weird energy about himself that gives me the creeps. — Says he’s avant-garde. — I just think he’s a weird fuckin’ guy.”

“But,” The exhale he lets out is tempered and whisky tinted, clears out the fresh space in his chest that usually frees up when you’ve got your hands on him. “My old man likes ‘em. Says he’d be good for my health if I kept him around. At the very least build some sorta relationship with him.”

“Too bad my health’s in tip-top shape! Eh, doll-baby?” Minoru twists his head to flash you an expensive smile. Faintly defined cheekbones turning rosy when you return it like you know you’re supposed to. “Got my little guru at my side!”

And your simper, although gentle, is forced. Distantly you wonder if you’re the reason these bugs have become so habitual.

——-

This man is very ill.

Though he walks in with his head held high and a particular spring in his step, your diagnosis is that he must be terminal. He must be diseased and irremediable. In a constant state of agony and so stricken with unwellness that he can’t even think straight. You’ve seen your fair share of “bugs” and rabid disfigured animals that grow out of their hosts like fungus. Some that trail behind like lost children with broken crackling legs - a stench that only accompanies the open wounds whose maggots reach out so helplessly. Disturbing things. For all of it you’ve seen, you’re lucky to say that those cases are few and far in between.

But this,

It has many hands and many faces.

Each accompanied by its own set of teeth. Curling lips that stutter as they rise, etched in lipstick and gum; you find mint leaves hidden in the valley of its tongue, coiling as it softly sings. Watching from afar as it hobbles on its haunches like a drunken man, or of fawn newly grazed. It is steady - and constantly moving. It buzzes like a million bees and yet the man standing next to it is seemingly unaffected.

And so are you.

Your gentility becomes you as you politely bow for the man who you’ve so gracefully led to Mr. Minoru’s office. A practiced curtsy is usually enough to get your usual guests commenting under their nose at your bosses taste in assistant’s, but this man is quiet as he walks past you. So above your head that it almost feels like he doesn’t even know you exist. And that feeling is… off putting to say the least.

You close the door behind him as your boss starts on introductions.

“Ah, so you’ve met my beautiful assistant!” He reaches out his hand. “Minoru. Nice to meet you.”

The genuinity in the man’s smile fastens his eyes into slits as he steps forward to return the shake. “Geto, likewise.”

“Geto, huh? I heard the old man sent you for an investment proposition. My guess is it’s something… traditional?” Minoru gestures toward his garbs.

He’s somewhat clinical in his attempt to look lighthearted, but the sigh he blows out feels trusting. “So this isn’t selling “contemporary” huh?”

Minoru laughs and the thing beside him whimpers.

Your fingers twitch against your work skirt.

You’re a distant shadow lingering behind the conversing men as you step to your post on the far side of the office wall, heels clicking quietly when you bend to fix yourself adjacent to Mr. Minoru’s desk. — You’re not expected to listen much to the conversation, or even understand the matters on which they talk about. Just straighten your back when your boss snaps his fingers and follow obediently when he coos an order.

But even if that weren’t the case, you’d say it’d be hard to pay any attention to anything other than whatever the fuck that is hunched beside the man standing just a few feet away. Singing quietly under its breath and repeating the tune like a prayer. Fearful, shaken, pleaful, dread inducing; overlapping in its many mouths. Your fingernails quietly scrape against each other in your attempt to remain neutral but from a keen eye you’re jarred. Disquietingly moving your eyes from the two men still talking adjacent from you and then it again.

It’s looking at you.

You force down a swallow when Minoru calls your name.

“Quiet thing, isn’t she?” Your boss comments amidst the conversation as you approach them. “Could almost forget she’s here if it weren’t for the eyecandy,”

You smile at him like he’s flattering you but it’s muscle memory. “Sir?”

“Gather up those papers from your desk over there, sweetpea. And hand it to the nice man.”

You almost don’t even wanna turn your back on it.

But against your own anxieties you do as you're told. Even with your nerves frayed as they are. You keep your posture as you hastily skirt to your desk and back across the room again. Nimble, slightly shaken fingers lowering to place it in Geto-san’s hand but he doesn’t acknowledge you even when you smile. Vacant eyes. Bored of you already. —- You don’t know if you should feel more offended or alarmed. But in your curtsy before backing away you decide to split the difference and go for disturbed.

Avant-garde. This guy just gives you the fuckin’ creeps.

He works in health, apparently. From what you’ve gathered in the continuing conversation, he’s a spiritual man who offers health by spiritual means. It’s not a very groundbreaking admission, especially from a man in traditional garb, but he assures that his practices have long surpassed ground theory and have been proven to guarantee actual results. From refractory diseases, mental illness, visible injury; his methods could completely eradicate the need for traditional medicine and take the health industry by storm.

But money is a long factor, longer in the doubtful and non-spiritual. “Non-worthy.” It sounds pointed the way he slips that in, but your red flags aren’t shared with your less than convinced boss.

“Spiritual healing sounds great and all, Geto buddy. But you’re directing services to a pretty biased market.” Minoru crosses one of his legs over the other from his perched position against his desk. “Even with the facts, the money’s in objectivity. You’d get more bang for your buck just saying any Yamada worth his salt can walk in and get rid a’ his sniffles for the right price. - Religion ‘ll just turn people off.”

Geto smiles patiently. “Ah, Minoru-san, we’re not religion based. Religion promotes powerlessness. Our services come from practical people.”

You watch as the creature messily swivels on its crooked legs when he invades its space by leaning back a little. “But to insert certain biases kind of sweetens the deal, doesn’t it? People like things that make them feel special. Even the most useless people should wanna prove themselves in some way, right?”

What a crooked way of thinking.

At your quiet displeasure the mass behind Geto wheezes painfully, wincing when you lock eyes with it. Its song pitches and warbles, chops a little like it’s weeping; but even in its effort to resume its discontent is palpable.

You could almost feel acknowledged by it. By its wandering eyes and its tightened misshapen shoulders. Almost as off put as you are from its spot in the middle of the room. The more you look at it, the more it starts to evoke pity. Even in its unsightliness, it looks misplaced and afraid. - Its song breaks like a cry for mercy and the closer you look at it the more recognizable its purpose becomes.

There are knots in its balmy skin so engorged they bleed and tear. Fabric mincing over fictional scabbing and prayer beads hanging out of its gashes. Every twitch it makes reverberates ricey out of rhythm beats akin to maracas and its song, as out of key as it is, is reverential. Powerlessness. Anodyne through faith. You barely find yourself pitying the afflictions of affected people but in the context of this conversation - it’s watering eyes; you feel empathetic toward this thing and by extension Geto-san.

You assume something awful must’ve started that way of thinking.

Should you even stick your neck out for this guy? You’ve dealt with bigger, more violent ones in any case. But this creature seems peaceful. Following faithfully on its hosts haunches as it waits patiently beside him. You’ll have to be fast and unflashy about it, hopefully the stench from that thing won’t make you hurl on impulse. But if not out of mercy, it would be nice to have it out of your line of vision.

Your eyes cross it again. It’s many eyes well with anguish. You decide that at your next opportunity you’ll get rid of it promptly.

As luck would have it Mr. Minoru’s personal phone rings.

He’s quick in his apologies as he fishes it out of his pocket. Passing a smile to Geto as he quickly bows and makes the few long strides it takes to step out of the door and into the hallway, and a few short snaps in your direction as he points you to the concessionaires reserved for his clients near the door.

You’re practiced as you dip for the little fridge on your left, carefully sliding out a glassed bottle of water from the door and a plastic bag of sliced apples.

“Would you like a snack while you wait, Geto-san?”

He ignores you.

Through a quietly exasperated sigh does he slide his phone out of his hakama and pointedly decide not to acknowledge your awkward stance at the far end of the room. — You know he ignores you because the silence that otherwise permeates the spaciousness of your boss's suite is momentarily disrupted by the sound of your voice bouncing off the walls; followed again by that frigid silence.

This is the guy you’re trying to help.

Even so, your embarrassment is brushed aside in favor of making your way to the small coffee table between him and the other leather seat parallel to his. Thin pencil skirt riding a little as you take wide steps to the little spot that separates him from the empty seat - and you from the thin sliver of carpet standing between he and the now quivering mass.

You bend to place the treats gingerly beside him.

And when you rise you reach for it.

There are practiced fingers circling around your wrist before you can even touch it.

Your fear is potent enough to turn its broken hums into racking sobs as you freeze in his sudden grip. Firmly clasped onto you as he raises your arm over your head and forces you to jolt back with a stuttered breath. Faint greyed markings on the palm of your hand fade but they’re caught under his watchful eye, and through your shock you watch his expression switch.

From confusion, to intrigue, to pure excitement.

Your shock teeters on horror as his pupils dilate. “Now, just what were those pretty fingers planning on doing?”

He seems to revel at the sheer bewilderment that colors in your pretty face from where you nervously stare up at him. Doe eyes lit up by headlights, and the radiative heat of suddenly being this close to his predatory gaze. You stammer. “Wh-? Y-You know it’s-“

“Brought it with me, didn’t I?” He speaks lowly as he circles his thumb over your wrist. “Can’t say I don’t appreciate your concern though, sweetheart.”

You shrink. The absurdity of intentionally carrying a burden like this is as mind boggling as it is chilling. Dread inducing, even. With the kind of bad juju that thing emits there’s no other reason to purposefully let it fester beside you than for motives deeply depraved. Deeply disturbed. The way the air around him murkens and electrifies, and a glint in his eye that makes you feel like prey. — He’s looking at you like you’re dinner right now. And something about that feels trillions of times more frightening than any typical rubbernecking.

After being treated like a ghost by this man this whole time. Now he’s looking at you like you’re a slab of meat spread out for him. Succulent and tenderized, pliant under his fingers. Your soft eyes are rigid with fear as his other hand reaches for you blithely, larger fingers dipping in your loose hair and scooping it gently forward. You glance at it from the corner of your eye.

Smoke curls around his palm.

You suppress with a quiet intake of breath.

Geto-san’s cheeks pinken as he gleefully smiles, emboldened by a genuine tinge of ardor. You do your best not to flinch but it’s futile, his chilled fingers consolingly caress your face as he tuts; and gazes at you like he’s committing you to memory.

“Be patient for me, yeah? I’ll be done in a minute.”

You can’t even begin to guess what that means.

But before you can inquire he’s shushing you with a finger up to his lips. Playfully shooing you away as Mr. Minoru’s footsteps patter closer, and you clumsily re-fit yourself into your professional mask.

“Sorry ‘bout that, pal. Forgot about another meeting I was supposed to attend a little earlier,” He pockets his phone. “No one’s fault.”

He leans against the cliff of his desk where Geto-san’s planted himself again. Minoru glances at the unopened bag of apple slices. “Ah, _____, baby. You were supposed to hand him the good stuff.”

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“No worries.” Geto laughs airily. “How could anything look nearly as appetizing when you’ve got an assistant like that walking around?”

Your ears burn as Mr. Minoru snorts in kind. “Yeah, fair enough,”

He rolls up his sleeves. “A’right, princess. How bout you hop on over to my lounge and break open the good brandy for my guest and I. Bring us the crystal set. Can you do that?”

—-

The decanter in your hand falls with a dull thump.

There’s no… logical explanation for what you’re looking at right now — Who you’re looking at right now. In any other circumstance deep purples would be expected. Blotched boysenberries and flossy reds, dotted with strained blues. You’d expect tearing - bleeding, audible ginger snaps of tendons and extended bone. A scream even, no matter how silent; all are logically expected. Death is logically expected.

But seeing your boss stretched out like leather, not a full five minutes after leaving him alone with this man, is not.

Your eyes frantically skirt over your boss's heaving corpse from your exposed position at his closing entrance. Watching in repulsed terror as his skin tears and bruises, familiar prayer beads falling out of his flesh like stuffing. - His eyes are rolled agonizingly into the back of his head, mouth opened in a scream. His blood sizzles against the maple of his desk and you can do little but stare in horror.

You flinch as the mainline on his desk starts to go off but you’re no sooner cringing at the way his arm breaks just to reach for it. Bloody fingers pushing the receiver, and cheeks tearing just to respond.

His unchanged voice somehow makes it all the more horrifying. “Hi, Souza. Thanks for getting back to me,”

“Yeah, do me a favor,” You back into the door. “Route about ten million to Geto-san’s organization under investment. And be a dear and sign the invoice for me, would ya?”

You’re gonna be sick.

“So, you’re out of a job now, huh?” You nearly yelp.

Geto-san’s standing just over you. “I’ve got a pretty similar position opened up,” He says casually. “‘Wanna work for me?”

You can barely push out a word. Which, kind man that he is, helps you out by deciding for you. “Ah, Great! I can break you in on Sunday. Here’s my card.”

He smiles kindly as you hesitantly pluck the laminated card from his fingers. Looking at you under mirthful eyes that chill more than they comfort.

“If you’re worried about pay, I can give you double of whatever that monkey gave you. Maybe a little extra if you’re as good as he says you are.”

But before you can recoil at the thought of being stuck under the same kind of boss, with the extra caveat of being a psychopath; he adds with a hint of challenge. “That is, if you can get rid of our friend for us.”

You follow his glance to the creature wearing your boss like a hand puppet.

Do you even have a choice?

Geto-san watches with a keen eye as you warily approach the blinking, bleeding corpse behind your late boss’s desk. Heels clicking slowly against his wooden floors, skin prickling at the thought of even getting close to this thing let alone touch it. There’s a smell that you notice as you move closer. A rotten, discrepant smell that pushes as much as it pulls. Aging, airless skin, barreling toward cell death; only marginally slowed by the alkaline smell of embalming fluid. Too old. Too sour.

But there’s something about it that almost — Hypnotizes. Evokes a kind of nostalgia that almost completely disarms you. Church pews and goatskin, leather hardbacks under frilly gloves; and those damn prayer beads. You can almost hear your grandmother’s voice. The minty sweet taste of stale candies tinted by the perfume in her purse. ~ Watching worship but not understanding it. A contact high of conviction. Your boss’s blood spills and it means something sacred, something reverent. And the closer you get, the more that sacrifice feels for the better.

You flicker a glance in Geto-san’s direction. This guy had this shit on standby?

It’s clammy when your fingers finally graze its skin. Sweaty and twitching, like every touch is a pinched nerve; like every stroke stimulates. There’s movement under the first layer, a hissing under the second. It’s mania seeps off of it in droves and the more you linger on it, the more your stomach twists.

You draw back your hand and rub over the difference in texture.

The room is temporarily endowed with smoke at the snap of your fingers.

They’re both gone when the vapor quickly dissipates, blood formerly staining expensive maple now replaced with its originally polished shine. As well as his chair, his area rug, and any other evidence that could connote what truly horrific fate the man in question had suffered in this very room.

Which is enough to send Geto-san into an ecstatic flurry of applause. “H-Holy shit. Where have you been all my life?”

He’s more focused on the way the weight in your lips shift rather than that being because of a frown. Regardless, you’re still a picture despite it. “You’re gonna fit nicely. — My address is on the card. Come by nine? I’ll have breakfast ready by then.”

He turns with a relaxed lilt toward the exit. “You and I are gonna have a lot of fun.”

The door clicks as the lock disengages.

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

reblogs are appreciated <3